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Dante joined Psylocke in the center of the arena. Facing her like this—knowing he could actually defeat her—filled him with a sense of excitement.
He kept telling himself he only wanted to grow stronger to protect his people and prevent others from bullying him. To never be weak.
But with the truth staring him in the face, he had to acknowledge it.
He enjoyed the thrill of fighting regardless of stakes. The rush of adrenaline, the chess match of predicting movements, and the physical satisfaction were unbeatable.
Silvija and Ava were to be blamed for his change. They had given him the most thrilling battles of his life.
This battle was actually a bit reminiscent of his first match with Silvija when she wanted to test him. Their entire relationship would've gone completely differently if he hadn't won using tricks. Silvija would've never opened her heart to a weaker man. She needed someone who wouldn't break under the weight of her responsibilities.
'It wouldn't happen with Psylocke though, right?'
He was simultaneously hoping it would and hoping it wouldn't. Such were the conflicted feelings of a man who desired beauty but also feared pushing away his current lovers with this greed.
"How do you want to do this?" Psylocke asked. "What are the rules?"
He took a deep breath to push down the distracting thoughts. This was about the fight. Just the fight. He had plenty of stuff to chase beauties after he was free from trouble.
"Whoever loses the ability to continue fighting is out."
A simple but effective rule that left no room for ambiguity. Anything was allowed like it would be in a real fight.
Psylocke's gaze dropped to the katana at her hip, then back to his face. "Should I not use my katana?"
His skin and muscles became more durable, but he still couldn't take a katana attack without defense-focused enhancement from Biokinesis. It was better since he would get a feel of how far he could push the blend of solar radiation and pure martial arts.
"You can use whatever you want," he replied with complete confidence. "I promise I won't die, and I won't let you die either."
With Death's link, he could survive nearly anything. With Biokinesis, he could save a dying man. Combining the two, he could theoretically resurrect the dead.
"Don't worry about exhaustion either. Go all out. Show me how strong you are."
Psylocke's katana sang as it left the sheath. A small smile appeared on her face that even she might not have noticed. "They say a man can die but never break a promise. I'll hold you to yours."
"I don't take my promises lightly." He smiled. "Before we start, I should mention I'm immune to psychic attacks."
Psylocke shifted her grip slightly, holding the katana out to her right side in a classic kendo stance. The blade was angled right toward his throat. "It would be far more satisfying to make this a test of skills."
Dante nodded in respect. "I'll only use my solar power to boost my physical strength. Nothing else."
It was Psylocke's turn to show a hint of approval. "Your honesty is refreshing. It's the complete opposite of Emma's approach. Somehow you two still manage to get along."
"It's like that old saying about the opposites attracting each other," he replied, taking steps to circle slowly to the left while she mirrored him to the right. "People clash more with those who are similar to them because you already know what the other person is like. With opposites, there's always something new to discover."
She considered his take for a moment and nodded. "An interesting philosophy."
"Emma is an interesting person."
"We can discuss Emma's many fascinating qualities later," Psylocke replied, conveying the rest of her thoughts: "For now, I suggest you focus entirely on my blade."
"Come."
Psylocke exploded forward, closing the seven-meter gap in a blur of purple. Her katana came screaming down in a diagonal slash from his left shoulder toward his right hip. The katana's arc was too wide for him to simply sidestep.
He had to intercept the blade.
His body reacted before the conscious thought.
His left hand shot up and caught the blade mid-swing between his palm and fingers—a technique called Qín Ná (Seizing and Controlling). The katana's momentum stopped dead barely three inches from his chest. Any slower and he would have a large gash on his chest. Any faster and his fingers would've been severed clean off.
Psylocke's face showed surprise at the impossible catch. It didn't stop her from firming her grip and applying more force to the katana.
As firm as his grip was, her blade was too slippery to be held like that. He was a bit careless in assuming the blade didn't have enough travel distance to generate the momentum for a deep cut. Yet, a clean cut opened across the area between his thumb and index finger, and blood welled instantly.
'Sharp.'
Psylocke's slash had barely any strength behind the slip. It was just the sword edge, which was special.
He switched his grip to hold the dull side and shoved the weapon away using Tuī Shǒu (Pushing Hands) principles.
She flowed with the redirection and took three steps backward to stabilize. She reset her stance into chūdan-no-kamae (middle guard position), her blade angled right toward his throat.
"This katana is an ancient relic. You'll lose your head if you're careless with it."
Dante glanced at the blood dripping from his hand, then back at her blade. "No wonder."
This world had too many metals, which were sharper and more durable than the sharpest steel. Her katana could have been forged with any higher-tier metal back when exotic metals were hoarded by the ruling class.
The fight had just gotten considerably more challenging. He had to be extremely careful about how he deflected her blade now. It was just so damn sharp.
Psylocke tightened her grip and dashed forward again, this time with a horizontal slash aimed at his midsection—the simple yet effective kesagiri (priest robe cut).
Dante shifted his weight and applied Huà Jìn (Neutralizing Force) to redirect her blade's momentum rather than opposing it directly.
The katana whistled past his ribs, missing by centimeters.
Psylocke stepped back and pressed the assault, transitioning her style into Jōdan-no-kamae (high guard) and bringing the katana down in an overhead chop—kabuto-wari (helmet splitter). His head would've split in half if he hadn't sidestepped in time.
The overhead strike left Psylocke wide open for a split second. He drove his palm toward her ribs using Cùn Jìn (Inch Force)—a short-range explosive strike.
An invisible force intercepted his hand before it touched her and shoved it away.
He saw eyes glowing with brilliant violet light and the ethereal wings of a butterfly spreading past her face like a butterfly mask.
Telekinesis.
Psylocke settled into Gedan-no-kamae—the Lower Guard. Her katana pointed its tip at his knees, hands held low near her right hip. The stance looked passive, almost defensive, like she was giving a chance to strike.
It was a trap to create false security.
The butterfly silhouette covered her face again as she borrowed power from her telekinesis to close the distance in a blink like teleportation. And she slashed, aiming to bisect him from hip to opposite shoulder.
He evaded right, feeling the wind rush past his face.
Psylocke had already transitioned into the next attack. The rising cut reached its peak near her left shoulder. Without pause, she dropped her full weight behind a vertical chop meant to split his skull—Kirioroshi (downward slash).
Gravity and muscle worked in perfect harmony.
Dante had to step back from the attack.
The blade's momentum carried it to its lowest point. Her stance shifted naturally with the flow. Her arms moved in a blur as she performed a thrust. The katana's tip shot toward his solar plexus like a bullet released from a gun.
He had to use every bit of control over his muscles to move away. The thrust still grazed his side, cutting through his jacket and making a shallow wound.
Three strikes in less than two seconds, each strike borrowing strength from the last.
Psylocke didn't give him a chance to breathe. She instantly unleashed another flow of attacks, just as fast and devastating.
She had great mastery over the sword and her footwork was immaculate as well. She maintained perfect distance, never getting so close his fists would knock her out and never letting him get out of the lethal range of her katana.
He wove through the storm of her offense, his hand flowing with the fluidity of water—bending, flowing, but never stopping as he deflected each cut with minimal contact.
Right now, he wasn't just focused. He had entered what Shang-Chi called Wú Wǒ (No-Self)—a flow state where conscious thought dissolved and pure reaction took over.
He wasn't only focusing on defense either. Every opening he found, he launched a counterattack. But every time he thought he would land an attack, an invisible force would slow down his offense or shove him back.
Psylocke's eyes were sharp and focused. Her signature butterfly had become permanent with how often she had to use it. She was giving her all to read his movements, having a hard time just to keep up with his counterattacks. It wasn't like her reaction time was much slower than him. His attacks were just that polished, every movement perfected to exert the most force without any wasted motion.
Her strategy had become simple—commit everything to offense, using her blade and physical power to pressure him relentlessly, while her telekinesis handled the defense.
Meanwhile, Dante had to evade every single slash. One mistake meant losing his head, an arm, or straight up disembowelment.
Psylocke possessed three overwhelming advantages. Reaction time and awareness to pull off a defense so disgusting that it put the top martial artist in the world at a disadvantage, physical strength that surpassed his solar-radiation amplified form, and a weapon so sharp it could probably cut through adamantium given enough force.
Fighting her felt like fighting two opponents at once.
"Clever," Dante muttered, narrowly avoiding a thrust. "Wasn't this meant to be a pure skill contest?"
Psylocke answered without stopping her offense, "This is part of my skills."
However, her eyes conveyed a different emotion: "Without this, I'd have suffered a humiliating defeat."
"I can't argue with that."
This time, he dashed at her—it was the right move. He couldn't allow her to go all out of offense again and again.
The butterfly silhouette reappeared—it wasn't for defense this time as he felt invisible pressure wrap around his ankle. The push was just enough to make him stumble.
"I know I said no rules, but that still feels like cheating—"
Psylocke had already reserved her blade to perform a horizontal slash at his neck.
He dropped into a crouch. The blade passed close enough to trim a few hairs. Coiling his legs, he went for a rising elbow strike—Dǐng Zhǒu (Upward Elbow). Her katana's flat side intercepted the elbow with a metallic CLANG. The impact sent a vibration up his arms, and she experienced the same.
They separated for a few moments then crashed together again.
The fight became a whirlwind. Blade against fist. They moved so fast the Hellions watching from the sidelines could barely track individual exchanges.
***
On the side, Roulette's jaw hung open. "Are we... actually seeing this?"
Tarot shuffled her cards nervously. "The Tower keeps appearing. Collapse is inevitable for one of them."
"Miss Psylocke won't lose," Angelica said, clenching her fists. Psylocke was one of them, so naturally, Angelica naturally took her side.
Jetstream put a hand on Manuel's shoulder. "He hasn't landed a single attack. The winner is obvious, right?"
Manuel, however, revealed a grim expression. Unlike everyone else, he could feel Psylocke's emotions. The respect and awe Psylocke had for Dante. The sense of inferiority against his pure skill. The shame for relying on telekinesis when the contest only started as a test of skill.
And accompanying it all... thrill and joy for finally fighting someone who pushed her past her limits.
"Warm human, you got this!" Only Sharon seemed to be cheering for the outsider. She had spent more time with Dante and Death than she had talking to Psylocke.
The ninja lady always gave her a sense of danger, so she instinctively avoided her.
Nobody tried to change Sharon's mind. They had all grown accustomed to her being the weirdest one in the group.