Dante's body didn't fall like sothing dead… because it was no longer a body obeying the logic of death, but rather an existence that insisted on remaining even after being reduced to sothing that should, by any reasonable definition, cease to exist, and yet, before everyone, the two separated halves began to react grotesquely, trembling erratically as flesh, bones, and energy reconnected as if pulled by an invisible force that refused the concept of end, compelling each fragnt to return to its original place, even if it completely violated the natural structure of the world around it.
The joining wasn't clean, it wasn't smooth, it wasn't even coherent with anything alive… it was violent, abrupt, as if two incompatible parts were forced to coexist again, and the instant his spine realigned with a dry snap, Dante arched his body and let out a yell laden with pain, frustration, and accumulated rage, a scream so intense it seed to want to tear not only the air, but the very reality that dared to place him in that position, and without even fully recovering his breath, his voice exploded in raw fury, without any filter or control.
"YOU BASTARD!!!" echoed across the battlefield like a desperate declaration from soone who could no longer accept what was happening.
Vergil… simply agreed, without any hesitation, without exaggerated irony, without explicit provocation, only slightly tilting his head as if he were truly considering the statent, and then nodded simply, almost too politely for the chaotic scene around them, his voice coming out calm, stable, completely disconnected from Dante's emotional intensity, as if they were discussing sothing trivial in a neutral environnt.
"Yes… currently I'm a wretch," and for a brief mont, his eyes analyzed Dante not with anger or contempt, but with a cold and calculating curiosity, before completing, with the sa disturbing naturalness, "…with an almost nonexistent power limit… you'll have to work very hard to match ."
The answer didn't co in words, because Dante was no longer in a state where arguing made sense; He simply advanced, driven by raw impulse, by wounded instinct, by an almost animalistic need to prove that he still had control over sothing in that scenario, appearing in front of Vergil with a direct attack, charged with energy and desperation, but before the blow could even truly exist within the space between them, Yamato moved—not with a visible arc, not with preparation, but with a single cut so precise and absolute that the world didn't even have ti to react—and then… Dante stopped.
For a single second, everything stood still, as if nothing had happened, his eyes still fixed on Vergil, his posture frozen mid-attack, and then, without warning, without transition… his body collapsed, not into large parts, not into recognizable pieces, but into billions of tiny, perfectly cut cubes, a fragntation so absurd it seed more like a mathematical concept than sothing physical, forming a grotesque pile of impossibly arranged flesh, while only his head remained intact, slowly rolling until it stopped atop that distorted mass of himself, his eyes still open, still conscious… still angry.
And yet… he returned, because each fragnt began to move simultaneously, as if they all shared a single will, reorganizing themselves with frightening precision, reconstructing the body in a matter of seconds, making it more of a demonstration of absurdity than a proper recovery, and when he finally stood again, breathing heavily, still trembling between anger and disbelief, Vergil rely observed, with a slight smile that carried not amusent, but genuine interest, like soone who had just found sothing rare, sothing useful, sothing… worthy of study.
"I have to admit…" he began, slowly twirling Yamato in his hand while his voice maintained that calm tone, almost too relaxed for the situation, "…this is impressive… your regeneration is absurd," and for a brief mont, he actually seed to consider sothing, his eyes narrowing slightly not in threat, but in analysis, before concluding simply, directly, and almost offensively casually
"…I'm thinking of using you as a punching bag… to learn more about my new abilities."
Dante didn't respond imdiately, but his body reacted, tensing, his muscles contracting while his aura trembled unsteadily, because now… he was beginning to understand, and this understanding was worse than any physical pain he had ever felt up to that point, because Vergil wasn't really fighting, wasn't taking this seriously… he was learning, testing, experinting, using Dante not as an enemy, but as a resource, a tool, and that… that was humiliating on a level that even his unstable mind couldn't fully process.
It was then that Vergil took a deep breath, slowly, not like soone preparing to attack, but like soone about to release sothing that had been contained for too long, and his aura changed, not in explosive intensity, but in depth, sothing more fundantal began to erge, sothing that wasn't just energy, but pure presence, concept, existence expanding beyond the natural limits of that space, and then… his wings began to sprout.
They didn't appear simply or directly… they manifested as if being ripped from another layer of reality, tearing through the surrounding space as they unfolded, and the first pair erged with an almost divine appearance, gigantic wings covered in immaculate white feathers, but profoundly wrong, because each feather pulsed slightly as if alive, and between them… red eyes opened, dozens of them, observing everything around them with their own consciousness, blinking independently, following movents they shouldn't even be able to perceive.
The second pair ca right below, completely different, dense and grotesque demonic wings, with black mbranes traversed by pulsating veins carrying dark energy, torn in several places as if they had survived impossible battles, and in them also were eyes, embedded in the very flesh, opening and closing slowly, as if breathing along with the living structure of those wings.
The third pair was even more disturbing, black, feathered wings that didn't reflect light, but absorbed it completely, creating a constant feeling of emptiness around them, as if pieces of space were being erased there, and between each layer of feathers… more eyes, countless, all red, all alert, all conscious, transforming that structure into sothing that completely transcended the common idea of wings.
And then… the last pair appeared, larger than all the others, surpassing any reasonable scale, a grotesque fusion of all the previous forms, combining feathers, flesh, mbranes, and bone structures in an impossible way, as if different concepts had been forced to coexist in a single point, and in them were hundreds of eyes, all open, all staring, all alive, creating a constant feeling of absolute surveillance, as if the world itself were being observed by sothing much larger than it could bear.
Each of those wings easily exceeded one hundred ters in length, eight in total, dominating the sky and completely distorting the perception of scale of the battlefield, making even the colossal presence of Ouroboros seem… distant, secondary for a brief instant, while the re movent of them produced a sound that wasn't wind, but of flesh shifting, of blinking eyes, of sothing too alive to be comfortable.
The entire field reacted, not by choice, but by instinct, Amon taking a step back without realizing it, Paimon freezing for an instant, Phenex falling completely silent, while even Sapphire, who maintained her smile, understood the fundantal difference between raw power… and what was before them now, sothing that could no longer be categorized within any known hierarchy.
Vergil fully opened his wings, occupying the surrounding space like an entity that shouldn't exist on that plane, and then looked at Dante with an almost offensive calm, his eyes carrying only curiosity, interest… and a slight trace of expectation, before finally speaking, with the sa naturalness as before, "…let's really begin now."
Dante didn't advance this ti, and that in itself was wrong enough to completely shatter the image he had been maintaining until then, because it wasn't fear, it wasn't calculation, it wasn't strategy…
It was hesitation, pure and simple, an involuntary pause that arose in the midst of a chaos where he had always been the first to launch himself, and while his body was already regenerated once again, whole, functional, pulsating with that unstable energy that insisted on keeping him existing against all odds, sothing inside him… simply didn't keep up with the process.
His eyes moved slowly across the battlefield, but not arrogantly, not with that dominant gaze of soone who saw himself above all others, but with sothing much heavier, more dragging, as if he were trying to find an answer that wouldn't co, and the first place he looked was the sky, where Ifrit had once dominated with his absurd presence, but now…
Now that had been replaced by sothing much worse, sothing that didn't burn, but consud in another way, Ouroboros, still traversing the dinsional rift, his colossal body erging slowly and inevitably, as if the concept of ti simply didn't apply to him, and that sight alone was enough to make it clear that the scene no longer revolved around Dante.
His gaze then descended to the surrounding field, and what he saw was not submission, not reaction, not even hostility directed specifically at him, but sothing far more unsettling…
Indifference, because Amon no longer observed him as a threat worthy of undivided attention, Paimon no longer displayed that provocative interest, Phenex remained silent, Lilith rely watched as soone who already knew the outco of it all, and even Sapphire, who had previously confronted him with absolute intensity, no longer seed focused on him in the sa way, as if Dante had ceased to be the center of that battle without even realizing when it happened.
And then… he looked at Vergil, and in that instant, any attempt to maintain his own internal narrative truly began to crumble, because it wasn't just the power, it wasn't just the grotesque, gigantic wings stretching across the sky with those countless red eyes observing everything around, it was the way he existed within that space, a presence that didn't need to impose itself, didn't need to explode, didn't need to prove anything, because the world around him simply…
Accepted it, adjusted to it, reorganized itself around him as if it were natural, as if it had always been that way, and that difference, that simple difference of "acceptance"… was enough to crush any title Dante might have received.
And as if to reinforce this cruel irony, the voice ca again, echoing within him with that sa chanical, feminine, distant tone, like sothing devoid of emotion, yet carrying absolute authority in every word it uttered.
[KING status granted to the entity nad "Dante"]
And for an instant, for a single second, it should have ant sothing, it should have caused a change, an evolution, a response… but it caused nothing, absolutely nothing, because his aura didn't grow, his body didn't react, his presence didn't expand, and most importantly… no one around him changed the way they saw him.
Dante frowned slowly, as if trying to grasp a simple concept that had suddenly beco impossible to process, and his breathing beca irregular, not from lack of strength, but from confusion, from accumulated frustration, from sothing that didn't fit, and then his voice ca out low, almost drawn out, carrying a tone that no longer matched the figure he was trying to maintain.
"...no..." and then, he repeated it, faster, more unsteadily, as if trying to convince himself, "...no, no, no, no..." while bringing his hand to his head, pressing hard, as if that were enough to reorganize his thoughts.
"I AM A KING...!" He scread, but this ti there was no weight, no impact, none of that sense of authority that had previously accompanied his words, because the world… simply didn't respond, and that's what truly broke sothing inside him, because it wasn't a physical defeat, it wasn't a blow, it wasn't pain… it was absence, it was emptiness, it was the complete lack of validation of sothing he believed to be absolute, and slowly, his eyes began to tremble as he looked around, as if expecting soone, anyone, to react to it, to confirm it… but nobody did anything.
It was then that he felt it, not as a direct attack, not as overwhelming pressure, but as sothing constant, subtle, and inevitable, spreading throughout the environnt, as if the very space around him were… resisting him, because every attempt to expand his energy encountered an invisible blockage, every movent seed slightly heavier, every breath required more effort than it should, and this sensation did not co from a specific source, it could not be fought, it could not be attacked… because it ca from everything, from all sides at the sa ti, as if the world itself were pushing against him.
His eyes widened slowly as he took a small, involuntary step back, his mind trying to find a logical explanation for it, but failing completely, because nothing made sense within the frawork he believed he understood, and his voice ca out again, lower, more unsteady, carrying sothing that was dangerously approaching despair.
"…this doesn't make sense…" and then, louder, more desperate, "I RECEIVED THE STATUS—!! I AM A KING—!!" But the echo of his words died in the air, without response, without reaction, as if not even the environnt itself considered it relevant.
Vergil observed everything in silence, without interrupting, without provoking, without even moving, because there was no need, since Dante himself was dissolving without him needing to do absolutely anything, and when he finally spoke, his voice ca out low, calm, without any trace of exaggerated superiority, just… pure observation.
"Now you understand…" and as he said this, his eyes fixed on Dante's with absolute coldness, like soone who had already experienced that sa kind of understanding at so distant point.
"…no matter what the system gives you…" he continued, unhurriedly, each word carrying a weight that didn't co from power, but from truth, "…if the world doesn't accept you… you are nothing."
And at that mont… there was no answer, no reaction, no cry, because Dante, for the first ti since the beginning of it all, had absolutely nothing to say.
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