The two stood in silence for a brief moment, both catching their breath after the clash. Dante smirked, brushing some hair from his forehead. "I win."
Sirzechs raised a brow and shook his head. "No, you didn't. Defensive powers don't count in a spar. First hit counts."
"Then I still win," Dante countered smoothly. "I pulled my blade back from killing you. That counts for something."
Sirzechs scoffed. "Like that weapon could kill me. Its make doesn't even hold enough power to cut through me."
"Really now?" Dante said, tone laced with mischief. He stepped forward, and the edge of his sword-spear lightly touched Sirzechs' collar. A thin line of blood welled up where the blade kissed skin. Sirzechs winced slightly.
"Oops, sorry about that," Dante mocked playfully.
Sirzechs only smiled up at him in return. "I still won, though."
Dante rolled his eyes. "Let's meet in the middle and say you didn't."
Both of them burst out in laughter, their weapons disappearing into their respective storage spaces as the spar officially ended.
"You're growing much more skilled by the day," Sirzechs remarked, his smile softening. "It won't be long before the Gauntlet."
Dante nodded solemnly. "Yeah. Hopefully what I've learned will be enough."
Sirzechs lightly punched his shoulder. "It will. You've already inherited substantial demonic energy from our family crest. That alone guarantees you a passing mark. It's your ranking you're worried about, isn't it?"
Dante gave a small shrug. "Guess you could say I'm trying to repay the kindness by showing up the competition and giving the Gremory name something to be proud of. Can't really slack off with all eyes on me."
Sirzechs nodded. "No... No, you can't. It's not that we'd be insulted, but the other devils would see you as a defect. And in our world, defects aren't treated well. A high rank means you're not just accepted—you're respected."
"Yeah, our mother gave me the rundown on family politics. I got the picture," Dante said with a shiver at the memory.
Sirzechs tilted his head, eyes curious. "Are you aware that you're augmenting your blade's sharpness?"
Dante smirked. "Like it? Learned it yesterday after training with Venelana on magical theory."
"Impressive. You're growing fast," Sirzechs admitted. "But now you need an element. A natural force to weaponize as your own. Have our parents spoken to you about demonic elements?"
"They've brushed over it," Dante replied, sitting down and folding his legs beneath him. "I haven't had a chance to try anything yet, but I've been studying the magic formulas you devils use. It's surprisingly scientific. Humans manipulate existing elements, but devils? You create them on the spot."
Sirzechs listened, intrigued, though clearly not following every detail.
"So far," Dante continued, "I've managed static electricity and basic electricity."
"What about lightning?" Sirzechs asked with interest.
Dante nearly laughed. "I wish. From what I understand, lightning forms when ice particles within storm clouds generate static, producing a spark—what we call lightning—as atoms collide violently. And considering we're in the Underworld, I have no clue what the storm clouds here even hold. Could be worse. Could be... violent."
Sirzechs blinked slowly. "So lightning is just... really strong static electricity?"
Dante nodded. "More or less. A static shock you can feel usually holds about 3,000 volts. Lightning? Roughly a billion volts in one hit."
Sirzechs' eyes widened. "And what happens if you get hit directly by that?"
"Well," Dante rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "the human body isn't that conductive by default. Most lightning injuries are caused when the current is attracted to something you're holding, like metal or wet clothing. The person only gets part of the discharge. But a direct strike? No dispersal? You're looking at instant vaporization. Or liquefaction. Or convulsing death."
Sirzechs swallowed. "And if you survived that?"
"Internal ruptures. Nervous system fried. Blood boiling. Brain hemorrhaging out of your eyes. Survivors don't last long, if they even survive at all."
Sirzechs was quiet for a moment. "You realize all of that applies to natural lightning, right?"
Dante blinked, then straightened. "Wait. Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
Sirzechs smirked teasingly. "I might be."
"Don't be stingy! Tell me. There is supernatural lightning, isn't there?!"
Sirzechs pointed a finger behind Dante. The young man turned to see towering black mountains in the distance, their peaks clawing at the underworld sky. Above them loomed swirling storm clouds, perpetual and menacing. The same range Dante had seen when he first arrived.
He turned back. "There?"
Sirzechs nodded. "There."
Dante stared, brow furrowed. "And how, exactly, does one climb Hell's boner?"
Sirzechs blinked. "Hell's what?"
"Nothing! I meant 'border'. Hell's border. Right?"
Sirzechs tilted his head, confused. "Hell doesn't border this region. That's miles away."
Dante sighed. "Right. Fine. How do I get up there? And why is it important? Can't you just show me demonic lightning?"
Sirzechs looked up at the clouds. "I can't show you elemental techniques. I don't use them. My power's destructive, not elemental. But that mountain range? That's different. You said it yourself—your powers adapt over time. So... what do you think would happen if you were exposed to Arc energy?"
Dante perked up. "Arc energy?"
"You'd have to ask Ajuka to explain it properly," Sirzechs replied, crossing his arms. "All I can tell you is that Arc energy is far more potent than the lightning you know. It's not just voltage—it's elemental chaos."
Dante rubbed his chin again. "And how dangerous is it? I mean, what can it do?"
Sirzechs looked serious. "There was a time a storm from those mountains rolled across the Great City of Lucifaad. It leveled half the city. Some say it was Satan himself, going for a walk. No survivors. Just ash and ruin."
Dante was silent for a moment, then snapped his fingers. "I like it. Let's go touch it."
Sirzechs laughed nervously. "You say that like it's a good idea."
"Oh, it's a terrible idea," Dante grinned. "That's why we're going."
Sirzechs shook his head, smiling despite himself. "You're going to get yourself killed."
"Yeah," Dante replied, already walking toward the looming mountain. "But if I don't, I might just learn how to command the storm."
Sirzechs remained silent for a moment, believing what he'd just heard to be his imagination. Surely, Dante hadn't just volunteered himself to be struck by one of the most destructive forces in all of the Underworld? But before he could rationalize it, Dante had already begun to move.
"Wait, what?" Sirzechs sputtered in disbelief.
Dante turned back to him mid-stride, already walking toward the towering obsidian peaks in the distance. His posture was relaxed, confident—too confident. "What? You said you wanted to expose me to it," he replied nonchalantly, as if his idea wasn't bordering on the insane.
Sirzechs blinked, aghast. "Yeah, in a controlled environment! Not there! That peak—that mountain—is raw Arc energy territory. The concentration is so dense that it lashes out at anything that enters its range. The Pure Arc energy in that zone doesn't discriminate. It immediately strikes anything biological!"
Dante, however, seemed to hone in on only one part of that explanation.
"So... it's attracted to biological forms rather than metallic conductors?" A wicked grin split across his face, practically glowing with excitement. "Oh hell yes. Sign me the fuck up!"
His voice boomed with so much boisterous joy that it echoed across the fields. It was the sort of reaction Sirzechs would expect from someone hearing about a roller coaster, not a suicidal exposure to a force that once leveled half of Lucifaad.
Sirzechs could only gape for a second before Dante launched himself forward, streaking toward the mountain with blinding speed. A gale of force followed in his wake as he used his telekinetic propulsion to full effect, ripping across the terrain like a human missile.
The Crimson Satan groaned internally. 'Is he crazy? Oh wait—we established this already. He's downright insane!'
With a snap, all twelve of Sirzechs' crimson bat wings flared open, and he shot off after the young Gremory with blazing speed. The devil lord moved through the air like a comet, trailing energy and heat as he tried to catch up.
Below them, the lush Gremory estate fields gave way to more rugged terrain. Blackened stone jutted from the earth like broken teeth, while the skies above slowly darkened, as if reacting to their very presence. Dante kept his eyes locked on the ever-nearing peak, its jagged summit stabbing into the storm-swirled heavens.
Thunder rumbled above. The skies were angry.
The mountain—dubbed Kraxis by old war devils—was the single most concentrated Arc field in this half of the Underworld. Pure, untamed, unchained energy constantly rippled across its peak, so violent that even dragons avoided nesting near it.
Dante didn't care.
He landed at the base with a hard slide, kicking up shards of black gravel. His eyes sparkled as he looked up. The pressure was already suffocating, like thousands of volts humming through the air. The hairs on his arms stood upright.
Sirzechs landed behind him with a furious gust of wind, eyes narrowed in exasperation and worry.
"Dante! This is beyond reckless. You don't touch Arc energy—you survive it. If you're lucky. There are devils who've trained for centuries and still don't get near this place."
Dante slowly turned to look at him, unbothered. "Yeah, well... those devils aren't me. I didn't get where I am by waiting. I adapt. This is just another test, and I'm ready to learn."
Sirzechs looked like he wanted to argue, but the words died on his lips. There was steel in Dante's voice. Not pride. Purpose.
The younger man turned back to the mountain and began his ascent. Each step was heavier than the last. The Arc energy resisted him like an invisible tide, waves of static force trying to shove him back down. It wasn't just the terrain that was hostile—the air itself pushed against him.
Blue lightning flashed above. Thunder cracked the sky wide open.
Dante's mind was a storm of its own. He could feel his powers reacting—adapting. His telekinesis became sluggish under the Arc field's pressure. Then it surged, evolved, burning brighter in resistance.
This is what I was made for, he thought.
His feet found purchase as he climbed higher, raw wind howling around him. Energy danced across his skin in light flickers. Static bit at his flesh, and the scent of ozone thickened.
Sirzechs floated nearby, keeping pace with worried eyes. "Dante! If you feel even slightly unstable, pull back immediately. This isn't pride. This is survival."
Dante grinned against the wind. "Not pride. Passion."
Another step. Then another.
Suddenly, the storm answered.
A bolt of lightning crashed down from the clouds, striking the mountainside not more than twenty feet from Dante. The sheer force threw stone into the air, a shockwave rippling across the slope. Dante didn't flinch.
Sirzechs' hand gripped the hilt of his blade reflexively.
Dante, invigorated by the near-death encounter, laughed. A loud, thunderous, triumphant laugh. His eyes glowed faint blue as his power began to shift.
His body began to shimmer with a translucent blue veil—his own aura adapting to Arc energy. The storm was singing, and Dante was starting to hum along.
He reached the first plateau near the peak. There, the energy was thickest. Bolts danced along the rock like serpents, striking wildly at anything that dared move. But none hit him.
He held out a hand.
The static gathered. Electricity arced between his fingers.
He closed his fist.
Boom.
A pulse of raw Arc energy exploded outward, not in destruction, but in synchrony. The storm answered him, pulsing in time with his breath.
Sirzechs watched, stunned. His jaw clenched as he realized something he hadn't seen in a long time.
He isn't just adapting. He's synchronizing.