His puppets were gone.
The psychic backlash left Dante's mind reeling, his mana reserves scraped clean. A trickle of blood dripped from his nose, a stark reminder of his new, profound vulnerability. Across the clearing, Rhonda stood with her last savage, a hulking brute whose arm was clearly broken but whose eyes still burned with feral loyalty. They were wounded, but they were predators who had just cornered their prey.
"No more puppets," Rhonda rasped, a triumphant, bloody grin splitting her face. "No more tricks. Now, you die."
They charged.
Dante's body screamed in protest. He had no magic, no army. He was a king without a kingdom. But a cornered rat will still bite. His eyes darted to the ground, spotting Leo's twin daggers. Too small. He snatched a simple longsword from near a corpse. The weight felt foreign, the balance all wrong. His old fencing classes were a child's drawing compared to a real fight, but it was better than nothing.
Kael scrambled to his feet beside him, his face pale but his eyes blazing with desperate defiance. "Stay behind me!" he yelled, positioning himself in front of Dante.
The last savage reached them first, swinging a heavy club in a wide, brutal arc. Kael's eyes glowed silver. He didn't meet the blow; he vanished, using the Warpstep skill he'd copied from Leo. He reappeared behind the brute, hands crackling with stolen energy. A bolt of raw lightning slammed into the savage's back.
The brute screamed, his body convulsing as he was momentarily paralyzed. Kael didn't waste the opportunity. A faint red aura—the echo of Rhonda's Berserker Rage—flared around him. He snatched a heavy rock and, with borrowed, unnatural strength, brought it down on the back of the paralyzed savage's head.
CRUNCH.
The brute collapsed in a heap, his skull caved in.
One on one.
But Dante's fight was not going as well. Rhonda charged him with the terrifying confidence of a predator toying with its meal.
"A sword?" she laughed, her voice a low, mocking growl. "You, the puppet master, think you can fight me? Let me show you what a real warrior looks like!"
Her axe whistled through the air. Dante tried to parry, but the impact was a bone-shattering force that sent waves of pain up his arm and nearly tore the sword from his grasp. He staggered back, his defense pathetic.
"You're weak," she taunted, pressing her attack. "All your power was in those ghosts. Without them, you're nothing."
She swung again. He dodged, but he was too slow. The edge of her axe blade caught his side, slicing through his jacket and deep into his flesh. A searing, white-hot pain exploded in his ribs. He cried out, stumbling back, clutching the wound as blood began to soak his clothes.
"See?" she grinned, advancing slowly. "You bleed. You hurt. You're just meat. And I'm going to enjoy carving you up."
He raised his sword, his arm trembling. His vision was starting to blur. He was going to die here. Butchered by this savage brute.
Kael, having finished his opponent, saw his new leader's predicament. He used Warpstep again, appearing beside Rhonda, hands crackling with another lightning bolt. But Rhonda was ready. She spun, her axe swinging in a low arc that forced Kael to teleport away to avoid losing his legs. She hadn't fallen for the same trick twice.
"No one left to save you," she sneered at Dante, raising her axe high for the killing blow. He was on his knees now, the sword lying useless beside him, the pain a blinding agony. Kael was too far away.
This was the end.
And then, a sound like a screaming meteor tore through the air.
A massive, condensed ball of fire, hotter and more violent than anything Erica had ever created, slammed into Rhonda from the side. The fireball exploded on impact, engulfing her in a maelstrom of flame. She was thrown sideways, her body smoking and charred, her triumphant roar turning into a scream of pure agony.
Dante didn't need to look. He knew that power. A slow, pained smile spread across his bloodstained lips. His pieces had finally arrived on the board.
Rhonda, her armor melted to her skin, her hair completely gone, pushed herself to her knees. She stared into the forest, her eyes wide with disbelief. "What the hell?" she roared. "Who is that?!"
From the shadows of the trees, a figure emerged. It was Erica. But this was not the shy girl, nor even the determined warrior. Her eyes were burning with a cold, white-hot rage that seemed to eclipse the fire she commanded. The air around her shimmered with power.
Rhonda stared, then her eyes darted to the side as a volley of razor-sharp ice spears shot from the darkness, embedding themselves in her shoulder and leg. She coughed, blood sputtering from her lips, and saw Masha step out from behind a tree, her face a mask of cold fury.
"Prez…?" Rhonda whispered, her voice a broken rasp. "Why?" She began to crawl, not to escape, but towards Masha, her last act a desperate, confused plea.
Erica ignored her completely. She rushed to Dante's side, her face a mask of anguish at the sight of the deep gash in his side. "Why?" she cried, her voice cracking. "Why do you always put yourself in this state?"
He looked up at her, putting on a pained, noble expression. "I had no choice," he gasped. "This boy… Kael… he was in danger. They were going to kill him…" He interrupted himself with a wracking cough, letting a fresh trickle of blood run down his chin for effect.
Seeing the blood he had shed for another was the final catalyst. Erica's grief, fear, and obsessive devotion ignited.
She stood up slowly, her gaze turning toward the crawling, pathetic form of Rhonda. A wave of pure, unrestrained mana erupted from her body—a violent, blinding light that pulsed with the intensity of a newborn star. The mana began to coalesce above her head, swirling and compressing, pulling in dust and leaves, growing larger and hotter until it formed a miniature, terrifying sun.
The heat was instantaneous and unbearable. The leaves on nearby trees began to smoke and curl.
Kael, his eyes wide with terror, grabbed Dante's arm. "We have to move!" he yelled, and with a final, desperate Warpstep, he teleported them both a hundred yards away as Masha turned and fled.
Rhonda, on her knees, could only stare up at the celestial body of fire that spelled her doom. All that remained in her eyes was a pure, primal terror.
Erica raised her hand, and then she brought it down.
The ground did not just explode; it ceased to be. A silent, blinding flash of white light consumed the clearing, followed by a deafening roar that shook the very foundations of the forest. Trees for fifty yards in every direction were instantly vaporized. The earth was gouged out, leaving a massive, glowing crater of molten rock and glass.
When the blinding light finally subsided, the clearing was gone. The forest had been replaced by a smoldering, volcanic wasteland. Of Rhonda, there was no sign. Not a bone, not a shred of armor, not even ash. She had been utterly and completely unmade.
And in the center of this new hellscape, Erica stood alone. Her clothes were half-burnt, her skin blistered from the sheer force of her own power. She stood trembling, panting, a lone figure silhouetted against the raging fires she had created. A girl who had just unleashed the power of a god to protect the man she worshipped.