Dante watched intently as Cerberus consud what remained of Astaroth's strength, its three heads growling in satisfaction as they devoured the demon's essence. He turned slowly, surveying the field of destruction he had created. A cold, calculated smile spread across his face.
'It's ti to restructure a few things,' he said, his voice reverberating with authority.
Raising his hand, the blood-soaked ground began to pulsate as if alive. Debris, fragnts of demons, and scattered energies across the battlefield started moving toward the center of his palm.
'Rise again,' he commanded, his voice as firm as a divine decree.
From the blood and rubble, three figures began to take shape. At first, they appeared as indistinct shadows, but soon their forms solidified, taking on distinct appearances. They bowed in unison before Dante, their reverence making it clear who now reigned supre over Hell.
The first to rise was Death. Her figure was slim and elegant, like a dancer of the underworld. She wore a long black cloak that seed made of shadows in constant motion, blending seamlessly with the surrounding darkness. Her hood partially obscured her face, revealing only silver eyes that glimred like stars and pale, almost translucent skin. In her hand, she held an imnse, curved scythe, its blade gleaming as if thirsting for souls. Her hair, black as the void, cascaded around her face, giving her a hauntingly irresistible aura. She exuded a chilling calm, a presence that made the air around her feel icy.
The second to rise was Plague. Unlike Death, she radiated chaotic, unpredictable energy. Her appearance was a mix of beauty and repulsion: the upper half of her face was radiant, with bright eyes and a seductive smile, while the lower half appeared corroded, as if the plague itself had scarred her flesh. Her skin was a sickly green, and her armor consisted of rusted tal plates and bones, adorned with runes that pulsed with venomous energy. She wielded a twisted scepter dripping with a dark, viscous liquid that created boiling pools of pestilence wherever it touched the ground.
Lastly, Pestilence erged, shrouded in a greenish mist that made her appear spectral. Her skin was deathly white, and her eyes glowed with a sickly yellow hue, as though infected. Her hair was long and white, cascading like tainted silk, while her body was adorned with armor that seed alive, made of writhing insects. She carried a bow crafted from gnarled bones, with arrows exuding a toxic mist. As she moved, the buzz of unseen wings filled the air, as though swarms of creatures followed her every step.
'Death, Plague, and Pestilence,' Dante announced, his smile widening as he regarded his new servants.
'Yes, Sovereign,' the three said in unison, their voices a mixture of respect and malice.
Dante gazed at them with approval, his smile satisfied. 'Now, you belong to ,' he declared, his voice dripping with absolute authority. 'You will be my hands in Hell, alongside War. Each of you has a role to play.'
'As you command, Sovereign.' The three won bowed again, the energy around them shifting as though responding to Dante's presence.
Dante turned, his intense eyes eting Akira's as she approached with steady steps, her face reflecting a mix of curiosity and expectation.
'Akira,' he called, his voice heavy with authority but carrying a deeper undertone. She stopped before him, lifting her chin proudly, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of surprise.
'You have stood by my side from the beginning,' Dante began, his voice deepening as if about to announce sothing monuntal. 'You have fought with , bled with , and proven your loyalty every step of the way. For that, the ti has co to acknowledge your greatness.'
He extended his hand, his palm glowing with black-golden light as power gathered in waves, causing the ground around them to tremble. 'From this mont forward, you are not rely my ally. I elevate you to the highest status. Akira, you are now the First Demon Queen.'
Akira's eyes widened for a brief mont but quickly narrowed with determination. She knelt, one hand over her chest and the other gripping the hilt of her sword, bowing her head in reverence. 'Well, I worked hard for this,' she said with a sly smile.
Dante gave a faint smile and placed his hand on Akira's head. As his power flowed into her, a surge of energy erupted, dominating the atmosphere. Akira's aura shifted instantly, becoming denser, fiercer, enveloped by a crimson glow that radiated from her figure. Her demon armor transford, becoming more imposing, as if the very essence of Hell had reshaped it to suit a queen. Her eyes burned with an intense red glow, like embers ignited with newfound strength.
When she stood, effortlessly wielding her massive blade, even Cerberus and the Horsewon of the Apocalypse seed to pause montarily, captivated by her transformation.
Dante took a deep breath, his eyes scanning the destruction around him. A dangerous smile spread across his face, exuding confidence and determination. He extended his hand, summoning his trusted weapon, Rebellion. The mighty spear materialized in his grasp, gleaming with a black-gold light, but before he could move, it began to shift. The weapon flowed as if alive, reshaping itself into a long, powerful, and imposing sword.
"Now..." he began, spinning the blade in a smooth motion, causing the air around it to vibrate with energy. "We have so things to take care of."
Dante raised Rebellion before him, his voice carrying an unquestionable authority. "Open," he commanded, as though addressing the very foundations of Hell itself.
The air quaked. An invisible force began to manifest, distorting the space before him. In an instant, a colossal portal appeared, swirling as a vortex of black and crimson energy, its edges echoing with screams and thunder. This was no re gateway; it was a direct channel between Hell and the Mortal Realm, opened with the effortless command of a sovereign.
Akira stood beside Dante, watching the display with a mix of awe and respect. Even the Horsewon—Death, Plague, and Pestilence—and the massive Cerberus seed impressed by the absolute power Dante wielded, bending the laws of Hell to his will.
Dante lowered his sword slowly, the predatory smile on his face hardening. He was about to take the first step toward the portal when a voice rang out, firm and laden with authority, stopping him in his tracks.
"Stop right there."
The voice was familiar, but its intensity sparked irritation deep within him. Slowly, he turned, his fierce gaze locking onto the figure materializing before him. Stay tuned with My Virtual Library Empire
"Qliphoth," he said, his tone laced with disdain.
It was the humanoid manifestation of the World Tree, an entity Dante had little patience for. Truthfully, he would have preferred to ignore her entirely and march straight into the Mortal Realm to deal with Mary Rosa, but her presence demanded his attention.
"It's bold of you to appear here," Dante continued, his smile fading into a stern glare. "Especially after aiding Lucifer during our last encounter."
Behind him, Lucifer averted his gaze, clearly uncomfortable with the reminder of his failure.
Qliphoth remained steadfast, her gaze calm yet defiant. "I did what was right," she replied with a serenity that only fueled Dante's irritation.
Dante tilted his head, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Defying the Progenitor is right? You're lucky I decided not to kill you for being Fey's sister."
"I did what was right," she repeated, this ti with more firmness. "Do you think I would trust a stranger over soone who's been in Hell for millennia?"
"Oh, of course," Dante mocked, crossing his arms. "Go on, get it over with. Say whatever it is you ca here to say. I don't have the patience for your moral lessons."
Qliphoth stepped forward, her gaze serious but shadowed with concern. "Be careful when you show yourself up there," she said, her voice dropping to almost a whisper. "I can't feel my connection to my sister... Fey, as you call her. She... might be in critical condition."
Those words struck Dante like a blade piercing his soul. His expression changed imdiately. The smile vanished, replaced by a silent fury. His eyes narrowed, and a demonic aura began to pulse around him, growing alarmingly intense.
"You... are telling that Fey... might be dead?" he murmured, his voice low and laced with cold anger.
Qliphoth's silence was answer enough.
The explosion of power that followed was devastating. Dante's demonic aura surged with such ferocity that the entire realm of Hell began to tremble. Distant mountains crumbled, rivers of lava overflowed, and the very air seed to crack. Everyone nearby—Akira, the Horsewon, Lucifer, even Qliphoth—was forced to their knees by the sheer weight of his presence.
Dante, surrounded by swirling black-and-gold energy that raged like a storm, turned without another word. He marched through the portal with heavy steps, each movent carrying an unshakable resolve and a fury that seed capable of consuming worlds.
When he erged on the other side, the scene before him rendered him montarily speechless.
It was pure chaos, an unimaginable spectacle of destruction. The sky was blood-red, shrouded in a crimson mist as if the world itself was bleeding. The scorched, barren ground exhaled heat and smoke, and the stench of death hung heavily in the air.
The bodies of angels and witches lay strewn across the battlefield, their faces frozen in expressions of pain and shock. In the distance, sothing caught Dante's attention—sothing that made his heart freeze for an instant. Sothing that shouldn't have been there.
"Well, well, it seems soone forgot that ti flows differently," a feminine voice purred in his ear, soft yet laced with cold malice.
Dante turned sharply, his aura pulsing with rising fury. The ground beneath his feet cracked, unable to withstand the pressure of his demonic energy. His golden-scarlet eyes lifted skyward as a deep tremor reverberated through the earth.
The sound of massive wings slicing through the air filled the silence, and Dante raised his head to see the source of the voice.
There, hovering above him, was a colossal figure—a dragon of titanic proportions, so vast it seed to blot out the horizon. Its presence was overwhelming. Black scales, darker than the void, glead in the light of the destruction around them, while blue flas flickered and danced around its claws and maw. Its eyes were narrow slits of pure apocalyptic energy, and the power emanating from it made the air itself vibrate.
"So... instead of consuming the World Tree..." Dante muttered, his voice low and dripping with disdain as he glared at the creature. "You chose to consu Tiamat."
The dragon descended slightly, its enormous wings beating with enough force to uproot trees and hurl debris into the distance. Its laughter echoed, deep and resonant, mingling with the fury of the environnt.
"You have no idea what stands before you," the feminine voice replied again, this ti resonating directly from the dragon itself.
Dante narrowed his eyes, a cold smile curving his lips. "An Apocalypse Dragon... How utterly pathetic."
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