Dante stood over Lucien's broken, whimpering form.

The monster from his past. The ghost who had haunted him from the orphanage to this bloody graveyard.

The world around them was a ruin. A testament to the savage war they'd survived.

But the war was not over.

His punishment had only just begun.

The ground around Lucien stirred.

The shadows of the fallen began to rise.

A silent, ghostly Veyrion appeared on his right. His calm grey eyes now burning with cold violet light.

A shadowy Riven rose on his left. The thorny vines on his arms now made of pure darkness.

Garron and Thorne appeared behind him. The fortress and the beast. Their forms silent, menacing, completely obedient.

Lucien stared in pure terror as the ghosts of his own soldiers surrounded him.

Their empty eyes fixed on their former master.

They were Dante's puppets now.

"What... what are you doing?" he stammered. Trying to scramble away.

But the shadow of Riven simply gestured.

Thorny, spectral vines erupted from stone. Wrapping around Lucien's limbs. Holding him fast.

"No! No! Not them! Please, not them!"

"You wanted to see a real monster at work?" Dante asked. Voice dangerously soft. "Then watch."

He did not touch him. Simply stood back and conducted his symphony of torment.

He had the shadow of Garron form its Ironbone Mantle not on itself. But around Lucien's limbs.

CRUNCH. CRACK.

A crushing, tightening cage of bone that slowly began to break him.

"AAAGH! STOP! PLEASE STOP!"

He had the shadow of Thorne, the feral beast, lean in close. Its spectral fangs grazing his cheek.

Whispering echoes of his own dead friend's savagery into his ear.

Lucien screamed. High-pitched. Terrified.

Music to the darkest parts of Dante's soul.

He begged for death. Pleaded for an end to the torture.

"Death is a mercy, Lucien," Dante said. Voice cold. Final. "And you haven't earned it yet."

He walked toward him. Soul-Drinker held ready in his one good hand.

The black blade hummed with hungry energy.

He did not stab him.

He simply laid the flat of the blade against his chest.

Lucien gasped as the draining began.

Not quick. Not violent.

A slow, agonizing leeching of his life force. His mana. His very soul.

He could feel himself withering. Fading. Being consumed piece by piece.

His screams turned to weak, gurgling sobs.

He wanted to die. Prayed for it.

"Please... please... just kill me... please..."

Dante let the process continue for a long, perfect minute.

Then, when his eyes had rolled back. When his body was little more than a twitching, dried husk.

He granted his wish.

He took the blood-red sword Lucien had forged from his own life. The instrument of Rina's murder and his own mutilation.

Shliick.

With a single, clean, utterly emotionless motion, he ended him.

The silence that followed was deep.

The vultures had been devoured. The war was finally over.

Dante stood in the middle of the graveyard of gods and men. His body a ruin. His soul a blazing star.

He looked at his team.

They were huddled together. A small, broken island of survivors in a sea of corpses.

All wounded. All bleeding. All staring at him with new, deep, soul-chilling terror.

They had not just seen him win.

They had seen him become the very thing they'd been fighting.

He let his new shadows dissolve back into the earth. Walked toward them.

His face a carefully constructed mask of sorrow and exhaustion.

"It's over," he said. Voice thick with fake, weary grief.

He looked at the bodies of Eric and Rina. Then at the horrified faces of his team.

"They took them from us. They took our family."

He knelt. Placing his hand on Eric's cold, still face.

"I will not let this be the end," he vowed. Voice ringing with theatrical promise.

"I swear on my soul, I will win this trial. I will get the wish."

He paused. Let the moment build.

"And I will bring them back."

He looked up at them. Eyes full of false tears.

"And therefore I will be taking their traces of their souls to give to the Goddess."

He gestured to the bodies.

"I have to... I have to take them. To preserve them. It's the only way."

Jin's eyes widened. "You mean... their souls? You're going to..."

"To keep them safe," Dante said quickly. "So they can be resurrected. So we can bring them home."

Lana said nothing. Just stared at the bodies. Expression unreadable.

No one argued.

They were too broken. Too traumatized. Too desperate to cling to the hope he was offering.

They simply nodded. Faces a mixture of grief and chilling awe.

'They believe me. They want to believe me. That's all that matters.'

He placed his hands on Eric and Rina.

With a silent command, he drew their loyal souls into his own.

Their spectral forms joined the ranks of his ever-growing army.

He could feel his own capacity for power expanding. The limits he had once known now a distant memory.

The feast of absorbed energy from S-rank monsters and powerful students had reforged him into something new.

Something limitless.

'I feel... invincible.'

"The cores," he said. Voice low. Practical. His grief seemingly pushed aside by grim duty.

"We need the power. You can have them. All of them."

A grand, generous gesture. A king sharing spoils with his subjects.

Masha, who was helping a wounded Talia to her feet, looked over at the dozens of dragon corpses.

At the bodies of Lucien's team. At the empty husks of Eric and Rina.

She gave a short, bitter, completely humorless laugh.

"As if you left any," she said. Voice a low, sarcastic whisper.

Dante faked a look of pained regret.

"I'm sorry," he said. Voice full of carefully crafted sincerity. "I had no choice."

"The cores were leaking energy. Mana bleeding out into the air. I had to absorb it to win the fight. To save us all."

It was partly true. The cores did leak energy when damaged. And he had absorbed that leaked power.

What he didn't mention was how much he'd taken. How deliberately he'd cracked open the cores to make them leak faster.

He gestured to the few remaining corpses.

"But there are still some left. The bodies of our enemies... take them. Grow stronger. We'll need it."

They moved with weary, robotic obedience. A pack of wounded wolves taking the scraps left by their alpha.

'They don't even question it. They're too tired. Too broken. Perfect.'

While they absorbed the last dregs of power from the battlefield, Dante took his own spoils.

He walked from one corpse of Lucien's team to the next. Hand outstretched.

He did not need their cores.

He wanted their skills. Their souls.

He took Lucien, the master of blood.

He took Veyrion, the silencer of mages.

He took Draven, the predator.

He took Garron, the fortress.

He took Thorne, the beast.

And he took Riven, the master of the green.

Too powerful. Too useful to leave behind.

They would be the new lieutenants of his shadow empire.

He stood in the center of the graveyard. The silent master of an army that defied imagination.

His power was absolute. His army a collection of nightmares.

The Royal Guard:

• Hephaestus, the Infernal Juggernaut

• Ouroboros, the Abyssal Shadow

The Lieutenants:

• The Guardian (The Wardcrafter)

• The Crimson Juggernaut (Derek)

• Lucien, the Sanguine Lord

• Veyrion, the Arcane Silence

• Draven, the Predator's Eye

• Garron, the Ironbone

• Thorne, the Feral Heart

• Riven, the Verdant Grasp

The Sentinels:

• Eric, the Unbroken Wall

• Rina, the Gentle Heart

• Edgar, the Loyal Analyst

And behind them, a silent, endless ocean of darkness.

The ghostly forms of eight Void Drakes. Hundreds of Sun-Eater Wyverns. A legion of overpowered beasts.

All bound to his will. Waiting to be called.

He had become a god of death. The sole ruler of a kingdom of shadows.

And now, there was only one thing left to do.

One final trial.

One last soul to claim.

The Bone Dragon.

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