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Dante slipped inside Psylocke's guard and unleashed Liánhuán Quán (Chain Punching)—rapid-fire straight punches at her centerline, the imaginary vertical line running down the middle of the body. These were points with the highest concentration of vital organs and weaknesses.
Thirteen punches in just three seconds.
Dante's expression soured into a frown as he disengaged and created space between them. Her Telekinesis had deflected ten and her katana's pommel blocked three. Not a single clean hit had landed.
Her counter came immediately. She twisted and drove the sword's pommel into his temple like a hammer. He covered the impact area with solar radiation to boost his defense. His body became as light as feather as he let the momentum carry into a spinning back kick—Xuánfēng Tǐ (Whirlwind Kick).
She ducked under it, watching him backflip and pick a free stance. There wasn't a chance to breathe as she rushed at him with a telekinesis-assisted dash and brought the katana down in a guillotine chop.
His torso swayed as the blade passed within a hair's width of his face and cut through a layer of mat.
He stepped on the flat of her blade, pinning it down. A droplet of sweat dripped from her chin. "You look beat up."
Psylocke's bodysuit was nearly soaked. Sweat was pouring down her face. Their bodies were way past the human limits. A fight of this caliber shouldn't make her sweat this hard in such a short time.
The mental load of maintaining constant telekinetic defense while executing perfect swordwork was enormous. She had to read his offense and do her own counterattacks while managing telekinesis, swordwork, and footwork simultaneously.
"You're just impressive," Psylocke whispered, yanking her katana away. "How long have you been training? Decades?"
The question was accompanied by a swift one-handed stab—Hachi-zashi (Bee Sting)—aimed at his ribs.
He dodged and tried to catch her off-guard with a low-kick. The trick didn't work. "Hundred years."
"I won't feel bad for losing then." The compliment came with a left-handed punch. Easiest dodge of his life. "A human can't compete with a god."
He couldn't help but chuckle. "Who said I'm a god? I'm as human as you are."
His statement confused her enough that her guard dropped slightly.
He was about to capitalize when an unwelcome voice intruded his mind.
"A great warrior, this one."
Venon, who had woken up after a long rest to do his routine of complimenting warriors.
"Let us become one and subdue this warrior to be your mate! She would make a strong offspring!"
"Absolutely not!" Dante hissed back through their bond, narrowly avoiding a slash. "Go back to sleep."
"Your reluctance is... curious. The strong should claim the strong. Is that not your species' way?"
"That's rape, Venom. We don't do that."
"I see. I will remember this." The symbiote's presence faded back into dormancy, though Dante felt its lingering interest. "Do not die, Dante. It'll be hard to find a partner like you."
The distraction almost cost him his shoulder. Psylocke's blade grazed his shoulder, parting fabric and skin in a thin red line.
He refocused immediately and went on offense. Then he noticed something weird. Sometimes her blade movements made winds howl, the air screaming as it was displaced. Other times, the seemingly identical slashes made barely a sound even though she was clearly putting in the same effort.
"Wait," Dante said, blocking a pommel strike. "Are you using telekinesis to enhance your attacks too?"
Her glowing eyes held a spark of admiration even as she twisted away from his strike. "You saw through it."
"That's insane."
Even he would struggle to do that in real-time combat. If it was easy, every telekinetic would be unstoppable in close combat. But they weren't. It wasn't just thinking and doing—incoproting telekinesis into attacks required instantaneous calculations and force adjustments. Not to mention a perfect synchronization between mind and muscle.
As a result, she was drenched in sweat despite her superhuman physique. It would also explain how she had broken the sound barrier against Ghost Rider Natasha.
"Why doesn't your butterfly only show up all the time then?"
She pointed at her face. "It only manifests when I consciously use my psychic powers."
Her eyes spoke the rest: "Using Telekinesis for strength and speed enhancement is a muscle memory."
She had created her own style of sword fighting and mastered it to a near-perfect level. The style would grow stronger with her mental and physical strength.
Realizing how much this was draining her, Dante made a decision. He had to end this fast. If it dragged on, she would collapse from mental exhaustion, and that wouldn't feel like a win.
He wanted a decisive victory.
"Let's end this," Dante said, leaping backward to create distance. "One final attack. Give it everything you've got."
Psylocke's eyes burned with a desire. "You don't want an ambiguous win."
"Nope. What about you?"
She took a few steps back and gripped the katana in both hands and dropped into Hassō-no-kamae (side stance), blade held vertically beside her head.
"I want to win."
Starting with slow steps to build momentum, she broke into a sprint.
The katana swept forward in a horizontal slash—Sōzan (Mowing the Mountain)—meant to cleave him in half at the waist. The butterfly silhouette was almost material with how much mental strength she was using in this one attack.
"ENDURE!"
The blade carried every ounce of strength in her muscles, perfectly calculated telekinetic vectors amplifying its momentum, and something else—something intangible.
Her resolve. Her desire to defeat the strongest martial arts she had ever met.
"THE!"
The air screamed. A visible shockwave formed along the blade's edge as it broke the sound barrier.
BOOM.
The sonic boom shook the entire training facility. Cracks formed across the floor beneath them.
"BUTTERFLY DANCE!"
The Hellions gasped and made more distance from the center. Sharon buried her face in Angelica's shoulder.
Dante clenched his right fist until his knuckles popped. Solar radiation surged through his arm and concentrated into a single point. His fist took on a faint golden glow, becoming hard as steel. No—harder than steel.
He didn't know exactly how powerful this attack would be. He didn't have to either. Overthinking would ruin the technique he was about to perform.
Clearing his mind completely, Dante stepped forward and punched.
Zhì Zhū (Supreme Strike).
A technique combining the intent of Fā Jìn (Explosive Force Release) with the technique of Guàn Quán (Flowing Fist).
A single punch perfected to the absolute peak of martial arts.
His fist met the sharp edge of her blade.
CLANG.
The sound was deafening as metal struck the immovable object. A shockwave radiated outward in a perfect sphere. Every light in the training facility shattered. The mats were obliterated, and the ground cracked further like broken glass.
Concrete dust rained from the ceiling in a shower.
The ancient relic that had cut through Dante's enhanced skin like tissue paper was launched from Psylocke's hands. It spun through the air and embedded itself in the far wall with a resonating THUNK, buried halfway in the reinforced wall.
The wind generated by his punch hit Psylocke with full-force. She was lifted off her feet and hurled backward, tumbling across the mat like a rag doll.
She finally came to rest face-first on the ground.
The entire facility fell silent except for the faint patter of falling debris.
Dante held the pose for a moment, his fist trembling violently. He wasn't doing it to strike a cool pose. No, he literally couldn't control his right arm.
Then the pain hit all at once. Overwhelming pain that made him grit his teeth, forcing him to bite his tongue. He would have screamed if it wasn't for his iron willpower, which had been tempered again and again in the consciousness of many heroes.
Visible fissures spread from his knuckles up his hand and across his wrist. Skin was split along his forearm and bicep all the way to his shoulder. Blood oozed from every tiny fracture across his arm.
"Shit."
His legs gave out. He dropped onto his ass, hugging his ruined right arm. It hung limp and completely numb. His nervous system simply refuses to process the signals anymore as a mercy.
He switched to Elixir's Resonance Link to assess the damage.
'It's even worse than I thought.'
The bone structure in his hand resembled a shattered porcelain held together by duct tape due to microfractures. Muscle fibers had been torn. Blood vessels were ruptured. His rotator cuff had partially torn. The damage was insane, but nothing permanently crippling.
Healing it naturally would take months.
Good thing he didn't have to heal naturally.
"Miss Psylocke!" Angelica's worried voice cut through the silence.
"Warm human!" Sharon's distressed cry followed.
The Hellions rushed toward Psylocke's motionless form, all except one lavender-furred cat who rushed toward Dante instead. She skidded to a stop beside him and stared at his bloodied arm with wide amber eyes.
"Go to infirmary?" she asked urgently, her tail whipping around anxiously. "Nurse will fix your hand!"
He shook his head. "I can fix myself."
"Licking like Catseye does?"
"Shh. Let me focus."
He fixed the muscle fibers and realigned fractured bones. Then repaired the blood vessels. Time was needed for a complete fix. He only did enough to stabilize and stop the damage from getting worse.
His attention shifted to Psylocke, who remained face-down on the mat. She was still conscious but utterly spent, lying there out of pure physical and mental exhaustion.
She had pushed herself to the absolute limit in the final strike.
The Hellions surrounded her uncertainly, exchanging nervous glances and whispering among themselves about what to do. When Dante approached, they all stepped aside, creating a path like he was a royalty or something.
All of them looked, even Empath, simultaneously awed and intimidated, realizing they had seriously considered challenging him as a team. None of them seemed disheartened at the result. If anything, their eyes burned brighter.
Somehow, without meaning to, Dante had become a role model. Emma could never fill that role for them. Her telepathic powers could hardly be showcased in a way that inspired admiration in the young.
"Will you be okay?" Tarot asked in a concerned voice. "Should we get you to the infirmary?"
"No need."
Psylocke pressed her palms against the ground and pushed herself with trembling arms. Somehow she managed to settle in a sitting position, only to clutch her chest and cough up blood. She had suffered internal injuries in that final exchange.
Sweat dripped from her chin as she breathed heavily through her mouth. Her gaze found his bloody right arm.
"Was that a forbidden technique?" she asked in a hoarse voice, unable to suppress her curiosity even in this state.
"Something like that." He smiled and extended his left hand. "Come on. You should rest on an actual bed."
She accepted his hand with a weak grip. Her hand felt even more calloused than Silvija's. Decades of katana practice had left permanent marks.
He supported her elbow, helping her find balance.
She pushed his hand away as soon as she got to her feet. "I can handle it."
Her legs shook, barely supporting her weight, but she refused to lean on him.
Tarot rushed forward to support Psylocke. Angelica hesitated for a second before helping Psylocke from the left.
Psylocke was taller than both. She was actually taller than Felicia at 5'11".
She looked up to meet his gaze. There was admiration in her eyes, but also a hint of frustration and disappointment.
"You won…"
The words came out melancholy but accepting. Despite pouring everything she had into that final strike, she had still lost.
"I'm tired. Very tired…"
The reminder combined with the look in her eyes conveyed a message: "You promised I don't have to worry about exhaustion and injuries."
She wouldn't have unleashed her best strike so recklessly if he hadn't explicitly guaranteed he could handle the aftermath.
Now it was time to make good on that promise.
***
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