The wind howled like the gods were whispering secrets through the bones of the universe. Dante stood still, face shadowed by his hood, staring up at the legendary arena carved between dinsions—the Celestial Bowl.
It was colossal. Floating monoliths hovered around it like guardians. Storm clouds curled above in slow motion, frozen in ti, crackling with lightning that never struck. Spires twisted into the sky, singing with ancient energy. The arena floor itself shimred with an otherworldly glow, where ti, space, and blood once danced like equals.
This was where destinies were torn apart or rewritten.
Dante's boots crunched against the silver-dusted path. Zerathis had left them at the gates hours ago, muttering sothing about needing to stir up another "lie-bomb" at the divine council—sothing about framing a god for eating the moon again. Typical Zerathis.
At the entry post stood a ten-foot ogress, hunched behind a desk too small for her boulder-like arms. Her eyes were like molten gold, her tusks chipped from what Dante guessed were centuries of chewing lightning bones.
She looked up.
"Na?" she grunted, voice thick like thunder through gravel.
"Dante," he replied.
Her eyes flicked to the faint mark glowing just beneath his collarbone. Hybrid.
There was a pause. A long, uncomfortable one.
"You're a hybrid." It wasn't a question—it was an accusation.
Dante held her stare. The air grew still. Then—
"Ma'am," said the Trickster from inside Dante's head, "I got this."
Without warning, the ogress's eyes rolled back. Her body jerked—once, twice—and then... relaxed.
"Now this is a terrible idea," said her mouth, but it was the Trickster's voice. "But we've done worse."
He casually grabbed the quill with her massive hand and scratched "Dante" into the sacred entry scroll.
"There," he said with a pleased sigh. "Signed, sealed, soul-risked."
Dante's jaw clenched. "You—possessed her?"
"Possessed is such a harsh word. I borrowed her. Like a rental. That could've annihilated everyone in the room if I slipped, by the way. But hey, chaos is half the thrill."
With a snap of her fingers—still the Trickster—the registration scroll burst into a green fla and was absorbed into a glowing monolith.
The ogress blinked back into her own mind. "Wha—? Must've blacked out. Damn migraines."
Dante was already walking away.
His match was fourth on the list.
Strangely, his opponent's na was blacked out—concealed in ink that shimred and bled like a living shadow.
Back in the resting quarters, Dante sat cross-legged on the stone floor, eyes locked on the arena's central orb, where each fight was projected in spectacular detail.
Thunder gods throwing mountains. Void sorcerers reshaping the ground. The stakes were godly—and then so.
He tried to speak to the Trickster. "You still there?"
Silence.
He tried again. Louder this ti. "Trickster?"
Still nothing.
Then, in his mind, a whisper like laughter wrapped in silk:
"You're ready. I've got one last chaos card to play. Fight well, kid."
The room went cold.
A chi echoed down the halls. The voice of the announcer, distorted and booming, called his na:
"DANTE. Arena. Now."
He stood, chest tight, hands steady.
As he walked the hall to the battlefield, murmurs rose from the watching gods in the upper levels.
"That's him."
"A hybrid."
"Impossible. He should've died years ago."
The mont he stepped into the arena, the air cracked with tension.
And then—rage.
A god in the viewing box stood, face red with fury. "He's a hunted! He's not supposed to be here!"
Just as the voices rose into an uproar, one voice cut through it all like the edge of a divine blade.
"Let him fight."
Silence dropped like a blade.
Every god—every being—fell quiet.
The one who'd spoken stood at the highest seat, golden armor glinting with celestial runes, his single eye burning with tiless cruelty.
"He will die here anyway. You're twenty-four, aren't you?" he called down. "You die this year... You die tonight."
Dante's throat dried. His heart stuttered. For a split second, he felt like a child again.
But then—he smirked. A smug, daring, stupid smirk.
"Guess I better put on a show," he muttered.
The floor trembled.
A na was whispered, then roared.
His opponent entered the ring—a man-shaped figure with a silk-wrapped head, crimson cloak trailing like fla. The crowd lost it—shrieks, cheers, gods standing from their thrones.
"Is that—?"
"No way!"
"He's fighting him?!"
His na thundered across the sky like a verdict:
"CARNYX THE SILENT. THE HYBRID-BUTCHER."
Dante's smirk faded.
The red cloak flicked. The silk-covered head tilted.
This... was going to be sothing else.
——
The crowd roared as Carnyxx stepped forward.
With one swift motion, he let his crimson cloak fall.
Dante blinked.
Scars laced his entire body like a story carved in flesh—across his chest, over his blind left eye, down his thigh. A dragon tattoo, coiled and snarling, roared across his back in ink and rage.
"He's survived Hunger V," the Sound God's voice rang in Dante's mind, sharp and urgent. "And the god in him didn't consu him. That shouldn't be possible. No records on his ability—go in with caution."
But Dante didn't wait.
With a snap of his fingers, he conjured a sword from nothing, a sleek blade pulsing with divine energy.
He lunged.
Carnyxx exhaled—just one breath.
The blade lted.
Dante's eyes widened, but there was no ti to be shocked. Carnyxx's kick hit like a teor, cloaked in fire. It slamd against Dante's face, searing flesh, exposing bone—the side of his skull now laid bare.
The crowd gasped. The gods leaned forward.
Dante stumbled back, hand to his face, breathing hard.
"You think because you house an illegal god," Carnyxx growled, voice sharp with disdain, "you're worthy of standing here?"
He stepped forward, towering. "You're filth. I'll end your legacy—before it even begins."
And then, Carnyxx said sothing Dante didn't hear.
Or maybe he did—but it was too vile to register as words.
Sothing about his mother.
Dante's pupils flared. His breath shortened.
The burn on his face vanished.
He healed—faster than before. Rage flooding every cell.
He raised his hand, conjuring another weapon—a spear, glinting with celestial silver. This one—invulnerable to heat.
Carnyxx lunged for another flaming kick—Dante blocked it clean.
The Hybrid Butcher smiled.
And then grew a tail.
A red, demonic limb lashed out, slamming into Dante's ribs. Bones cracked. Air fled his lungs.
Then—a punch to the gut.
Dante staggered, coughing blood, gritting his teeth.
Carnyxx spat on him. "You're pathetic."
But rage is a double-edged sword.
Dante felt it surge. He healed again—faster. Sharper. Cleaner.
He threw a punch—Carnyxx read it, leaned back—
But it was a fake.
Dante swept Carnyxx's legs from under him.
As the warrior flew midair, Dante drove his knee straight into his neck.
Carnyxx flew.
Hard.
Crashing against the far end of the arena.
The crowd exploded.
Dante stood, panting. His ribs scread. His body ached.
"What are the ways to win again?" he asked aloud.
The announcer's voice echoed:
"KO. Death. Or sealed."
Dante smirked. "Sounds simple enough."
But then—he felt it.
A whisper of heat.
Carnyxx was behind him.
"Peek-a-boo," ca the growl.
A flaming fist slamd into the back of Dante's knee. Dante dropped to one leg. A foot soared toward his skull—but hit only air.
Dante was already gone.
"You've got the strength," Dante said from behind, "but I've got the speed."
He spun, conjuring a second spear.
This one found its mark—right through Carnyxx's gut.
Carnyxx snarled but didn't fall.
He yanked the spear free—smiling.
"I'm going to enjoy killing you."
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