[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Outskirts]

The forest seemed to extend all around them as he advanced through it. Beside him padded Tamamo-no-Mae—nine tails swaying. She walked close, eyes turning toward him with an expression equal parts amused and fond.

"Do you intend to continue following me?" Dante asked with no real annoyance.

"Why must you say it like it's a bad thing?" Tamamo replied. "Do you expect me to part ways after finally seeing you again?"

"Yes."

The answer came without hesitation.

Tamamo stopped for half a heartbeat, blinking before letting out an exaggerated sigh. "You truly are a heartbreaker, you know that? I swear, even the wind is more courteous than you." She fell back in step with him anyway. "But aside from my personal reasons for following you, you're walking toward a leyline disruption. Convenient, isn't it?"

Dante didn't slow. "I have felt the disturbance. The mana and ether flow have been unstable for some time." His tone sharpened slightly, a faint hum in his throat. "Rumpelstadt was only a prelude to stop at for a moment. Killing the dragons will mean little if the planet continues to bleed."

Tamamo's ears twitched. She glanced up at him, tail tips flicking lazily. "So you have been paying attention. Good. Then you already know what we're dealing with."

"I would hear it from you regardless," Dante said, his steps stopping at last. "Explain."

Tamamo sat gracefully before him, nine tails fanning behind her. "Well, as you already know, leylines are the veins of the world. They carry mana, life, memory—everything the realm has ever known. From insects to empires, they are all preserved within. But when those two dragons—Albion and Ddraig—battled, they didn't just scar the skies. Their power ripped into the leylines and drained them, bleeding the planet's essence dry." Her voice dimmed slightly. "Now those veins are damaged. The energy's scattering, rushing toward the stronger leylines that remain. They're overflowing, bursting open, and all that information—the memories, the power, the history—spills into the physical realm. Manifesting."

Dante's helmet tilted a fraction, the violet lenses narrowing faintly. "A wound the world cannot close on its own."

Tamamo nodded. "Exactly. And it's not just that. The leylines have started defending themselves. They're rejecting interference, lashing out to keep from being drained again. The backlash could be severe."

There was a long pause.

"You came to me for this reason," Dante said quietly, his tone unreadable.

Tamamo smiled softly. "Partly. The other part was… well, I missed you. And I knew you'd come eventually."

Dante said nothing.

Tamamo's expression softened further, her voice lowering. "I know you don't see yourself as a savior. You never have. But you always fought to protect what you could—no matter how small the light was. That hasn't changed."

"I protect only because I must," Dante replied evenly. "Nothing more. Strength is not a virtue—it is a burden. And burdens are meant to be endured, not glorified."

"Always so poetic when you're trying to sound heartless." She let out a soft laugh. "You could admit you care. The world won't crumble for it."

He glanced down at her, unreadable behind the helm. "Would it change anything?"

Her ears perked. "It might."

For a brief moment, neither spoke. His hand flexed at his side, gauntlet creaking faintly.

"Tell me what you need," he finally said.

Tamamo's tone grew serious. "Destroy the manifested fragments—the illusions and creatures formed from the leylines' spilled memories. Every one you cut down will force the information back into the rift. Once that's done, I can seal the tears, redirect the energy flow, and stabilize the network. It won't stop the decay completely… but it will buy us time."

Dante gave a short, curt nod. "I see."

"You sound unconvinced."

"I am." His reply was blunt. "But I will act regardless."

"Always so noble in the most joyless way possible," Tamamo teased, flicking her tail against his leg. "You make saving the world sound like an errand."

"Hmph," he grunted.

Tamamo gave a small laugh, her tone softening again. "You know, even sealed as I am, I could handle this alone. But… it's been lonely. You vanish for ages and then pretend I'm a stranger. Honestly it's quite heartless of you."

He looked at her again.

"So," he said at last, "you would make use of me."

Tamamo's ears folded slightly, a sigh leaving her. "Must you always phrase it like that?"

"It is accurate."

"You make it sound cold."

"Accuracy rarely sounds pleasant."

She gave a small chuckle, almost sad. "Fine. Then yes. I'll use you, if that means we can save what's left. But between you and me…" She tilted her head up, eyes filled with mischief. "I don't mind being near you either. Even if you hide behind that ridiculous helmet."

Dante didn't move. Only the faintest exhale.

"I was researching the leylines regardless," he said after a long pause.

"So you will help me."

"This realm," he corrected. "Not you."

Tamamo smiled despite herself. "You say that, but the last time you said something like that, you saved me anyway."

He merely turned as he walked on once more, she followed. "Do not mistake my action for sentiment."

"Just let me mistake it," she said, following after him.

Dante didn't respond—but his pace slowed, just enough for her to walk beside him once more.

Though their walk ahead did not last long. Dante slowed and Tamamo-no-Mae came to a graceful halt beside him. Together, they stood at the lip of a steep descent — the world before them split open.

Beneath the two stretched a deep chasm, a wide cleft in the land. From within, a bright teal light pulsed upward, spilling into the air and painting the surrounding trees in light. Thin strands of energy crawled along the torn earth, reaching skyward.

Dante gazed downward.

"This would be the disruption, then," he said at last.

Tamamo-no-Mae's nine tails lifted slightly as she followed his gaze. "That's right," she murmured. "There's a great deal of power gathering here… too much, even for a small fracture. It's fortunate no mortals stumbled upon this."

Dante inclined his head slightly, a simple acknowledgment. "Then let us not waste time."

Without another word, he stepped forward, descending the slope. His boots slid lightly over loose gravel unhurriedly. A faint stream of dust followed his trail as he reached the base. Tamamo-no-Mae leapt from the edge soon after as she landed beside him with grace.

Then the air changed.

A hum vibrated through the soil beneath their feet. Tamamo's ears twitched sharply as the teal light from below began to flare, swelling brighter and brighter until the air seemed to tremble.

"Dante," she said softly, warning in her voice.

He didn't reply — he simply looked ahead as beams of teal light shot upward from the fissure, screaming into the sky. For a heartbeat they hung there, solidified into spires — and then shattered, breaking apart into fragments that fell violently to earth. The ground shuddered beneath the impact.

From those scattered fragments, forms began to take shape.

At first, they were only outlines — wavering silhouettes. Then the fragments twisted, condensed, and began to resemble figures. At least twenty of them. All translucent and teal.

They became human.

Or something that once was.

Dante's lenses narrowed faintly, the shapes resolved into the forms of men and women — their faces thin and hollow, their eyes dark pits. Some clutched at tools: pickaxes, shovels, tools of labor. Others simply reached out with their hands, fingers long and warped. Their movements were unnatural and stiff

Tamamo's fur bristled. She lowered her head. "How putrid," she murmured, voice disgusted. "Even the memories of the dead are being pulled into this mess… though I suppose morality means little to leylines."

"Then I shall end this as quickly as I can," Dante replied.

He stepped forward once, and every translucent head turned toward him at once. Their faces twisted. There was no scream, no breath, just a collective snap of the head — twenty bodies lunging toward him in silence.

Dante's stance lowered slightly. He drew in a breath, gauntlet curling into a fist, his right arm drawing back. His posture aligning perfectly.

As the constructs neared, their speed blurred them into streaks of teal light.

Dante's fist moved.

It wasn't a strike so much as a release. The air detonated with a deep, percussive crack — a shockwave bursting outward from his arm, tearing through the space before him like a bomb. The ground erupted beneath his boots, cracks spiderwebbing through the dirt as the pressure flattened the air.

The wave hit.

The first line of constructs disintegrated instantly — their forms breaking apart into light. Then the next. The impact rippled outward, swallowing everything in front of him in a blinding surge. Trees bent, splintered, and tore from their roots. Soil lifted, carried away in the backlash of his strike.

Only fragments of teal shards drifted through the air, slowly fading into nothing.

Tamamo watched, eyes narrowing slightly, though not in disapproval. "Efficient as ever," she said softly.

Before Dante could respond, the fissure pulsed again — this time brighter. The teal glow surged upward, spilling across the clearing.

Something else began to form within.

Two new masses emerged from the heart of the disruption — immense, writhing shapes of condensed energy. They swelled as if breathing, swelling higher and higher until their forms towered above the trees. The teal light burned so intensely it cast both Dante and Tamamo into long silhouettes on the ground.

The first coalesced into a creature vaguely shaped like a bat — translucent skin stretched thin over a skeletal frame, its wings malformed, with elongated claws protruding from its arms and spine. It let out a resonant shriek that vibrated through the bones.

The second was grounded — a beast with the body of a wolf, though its flesh was translucent like glass. Two heads rose from its shoulders, jaws lined with teeth, and a scaly tail lashed the air behind it, cutting grooves into the earth.

"Deseruit Beasts," Dante murmured. "The leyline remembers them."

Tamamo's voice came softly beside him. "Seems so."

The wolf-like Deseruit Beast tensed first, its twin heads twitching before lunging forward. The charge was fast, unnervingly fluid, its claws carving furrows into the earth as it bore down on Dante.

He did not move.

The first head came down, jaws wide enough to swallow him whole. The impact should have been deafening. Instead—

Dante's right arm lifted just enough to catch the beast's momentum. His gauntlet met the descending skull with a backhand, the sound sharp. The creature's skull imploded. Fragments of translucent matter burst outward, scattering like glass. The force of the strike sent the body whirling backward, ripping through the forest behind it. Trees fell in lines, each crashing down one after the other.

Dante's attention already shifted.

Above them, the batlike Deseruit Beast screeched, the sound piercing. Its wings flared wide, scattering droplets of teal light. Then it spat. A sphere of liquid acid spiraled from its maw, glowing faintly as it cut through the air — vapor trailing behind it.

Dante tilted his head slightly. The attack hit the ground where he stood — or rather, where he had stood — hissing violently as it melted through it. In the next breath, a crater smoked at the impact site.

He was already moving.

One leg bent slightly, the other pressing against the broken ground. There was no visible preparation — just the faint flex of his form. Then the earth shattered.

He shot upward, tearing through the air. The Deseruit Beast tried to rise higher, its wings jerking in panic, but Dante was already there as his arm drew back.

The impact came without ceremony.

His strike pierced straight through the creature's torso, splitting it open in a single motion. The blow sent ripples of force radiating outward, scattering fragments of teal light. The beast's body twisted apart, the upper half disintegrating into light before the lower half followed.

When Dante landed, the ground split open

Behind him, the wolf-like Deseruit Beast stirred again — not yet gone. The second head rose sluggishly, a distorted growl rang out.

Dante did not hesitate.

He stepped once, then leapt again — not with the same force as before. His boot connected with the creature's remaining skull, the impact so fierce it sent a rippling tremor through the ground. The head caved instantly; the body followed, collapsing inward.

Tamamo-no-Mae stepped forward just as he finished, the glow from the chasm below had dimmed slightly, but still pulsed. She looked up.

"Here it comes," she murmured.

Above the disruption, a large golden glyph materialized — its formation unique. The symbol was vast and beautiful, its lines spiraling outward in an odd circuitry. It turned once before pressing downward. The golden surface met the tear, sending a pulse of light through the ground.

Dante stood still, watching.

The glyph's glow deepened as it sank into the fissure, sealing it inch by inch. Beneath his boots, the soil lit up with veins of teal energy, spreading outward in a lattice of branching lines. The light traced the contours of the forest floor, racing outward through roots, stones, and fallen leaves.

For a moment, it looked almost beautiful.

Then the teal light began to fade, retracting into the earth until the forest dimmed once more. The glyph vanished with a shimmer.

Tamamo exhaled, her fur settling. "That's one less tear for now," she said softly, her voice carrying something like relief. "You make it look effortless, you know."

Dante's head turned slightly toward her. "You overestimate me."

"Do I?" she asked, smiling faintly. "You're still the same man who would Gods and Dragons alike, no?" Her tone softened. "You don't need to hide behind that mask. I mean that two ways."

"Hmph."

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