In a world swallowed by darkness deeper than the blackest night, a blinding pillar of white light pierces through the void.
A lone figure rockets upward against the beam, wrapped in crimson demonic energy that burns like wildfire. He throws a punch toward the endless abyss, the blow blazing like a meteor, trailing a fiery tail as it screams through the dark with a dragon's roar.
But nothing happens.
"Incomprehensible."
One by one, stars flicker to life in the blackness—countless grotesque, venomous eyes, their gazes dripping with malice. The eyes form a galaxy spanning the void, and from a distance, they merge into one colossal, glaring vertical slit.
The eye speaks, its voice booming with divine authority. "Why do you still stand?"
The crimson-clad figure slows to a hover. Dante, locked in a grueling slugfest with Mundus for who-knows-how-long, flashes a sly grin. "Looks like you're the one running out of steam, huh?"
The galaxy of eyes—Mundus himself—retorts in a voice cold and unyielding. "Answer me, Son of Sparda."
Countless gazes lock onto Dante, sharp enough to pierce him through. "Your power pales compared to Sparda's. You've burned through your demonic energy time and again. So why are you still here?"
Dante hefts his greatsword over his shoulder, looking like trading blows with the Demon Emperor is just another Tuesday. "Your premise is off, fossil. Who said I'm weaker than my old man?"
"It is fact."
The massive vertical eye narrows, studying him. "The quality and quantity of your demonic energy, the resilience and explosiveness of your body—not one measure rivals his."
Mundus isn't wrong. Dante didn't bring the Sparda sword this time, so he can't tap into the "Sparda Devil Trigger." He's nowhere near the peak Demon Swordsman Sparda. Sure, if Dante used that form, things might be different, but it's too unstable, too destructive—and honestly, he's not even sure how he pulled it off last time.
But for Dante, surpassing his father was never about raw power.
"So, what, power's just the stuff you can see and touch?" Dante scoffs, his laugh dripping with disdain. "All these years, and you haven't learned a damn thing."
In a few heartbeats, his demonic energy surges again, pulsing through his veins and easing his fatigue.
He's good. He can keep this fight going.
Dante locks eyes with Mundus, lurking behind the curtain of darkness, and his tone shifts to pure contempt. "I already answered this question back then. Guess your memory's as bad as your taste."
The galaxy of eyes ignites, endless demonic power flooding into them, turning them into blazing meteors that streak toward Dante. Mundus's voice thunders after them:
"The heart? Love? Will? Those are human delusions. Only power is real—"
A pale, imperious face emerges from the meteor shower's backdrop. "You defeated me back then because of Sparda's power, not these fleeting illusions you prattle about. Spare me your lies, Son of Sparda. I won't be fooled."
Dante can't help but chuckle. He lays it all bare, and the guy thinks he's pulling a fast one. Shrugging, he mutters, "Figures."
Meteors close in. Dante swings Rebellion, cleaving one clean in half. Black demonic blood splashes across him, leaving faint stains.
He channels more energy, slashing again. A crimson blade of light erupts from his sword, swallowing a swarm of meteors before fizzling out in front of Mundus's ugly mug.
"Calling stuff you don't have 'fake'?" Dante taunts, sheathing Rebellion and spreading fiery claws. He snatches two burning eyeballs and hurls them back even faster. "What's that old saying? Oh, right—'sour grapes.'"
Mundus clearly isn't in the mood to bicker. His face sinks back into the dark, and a massive, plaster-white hand bursts from the void, slamming down.
Dante's getting antsy. Mundus is playing the long game, banking on outlasting Dante's limited demonic energy. But Dante hasn't forgotten the bigger picture—there's a "Blood Moon Princess" out there, probably as tough as Mundus, running this dreamscape. And his niece, who can't even fully trigger her Devil Form, is supposed to take her on? Fat chance.
The giant hand glows with molten light. Without hesitation, Dante whips out Cerberus, the triple nunchaku, and swings. Shards of ice and howling winds surge forward.
No way this weapon can clash head-on with that hand. Wrapping himself in the icy gust, Dante becomes a streak of light, shattering falling meteors as he sprints up the arm.
He knows he's gotta wrap this up fast. Everyone out there's counting on him.
Three scarlet eyes glow in the dark—Mundus's core. Dante weaves through the meteor storm, grabs Ebony & Ivory, and strums a riff of jagged notes, transforming into a bolt of purple lightning.
Holy thunder crackles around him, but Dante doesn't flinch. He charges forward, determined to land a brutal hit on the overconfident Demon Emperor.
He's gonna show Mundus what happens when you underestimate someone who's all-in—even without his father's power, Dante's got more than enough to outshine him.
At last, Dante leaps high, Rebellion aimed straight at Mundus's brow, lit by flickering lightning.
A single, crimson vertical eye stares back, cold and malevolent.
"Eat this!"
A blood-red needle pierces Mundus's eye. It snuffs out, and the gray stone skin cracks rapidly. Dante pours more demonic energy into the blade, driving it deeper into Mundus's core.
Yes! He can do this—just like this, shatter the shell and send Mundus packing—
A massive force swats Dante away like a fly. Mundus flicks him off effortlessly.
Dante's stunned gaze locks onto Mundus's forehead, where a crack that nearly split his face is already healing.
This… this ain't right!
A chill creeps into his heart.
The Mundus here, the one standing before him—
He can't be beaten.
Because his body is just a phantom. No one can defeat a shadow unless they take down the one casting it.
Dante can't win.
(End of Chapter)