The present time.
A cackle ripped through the battlefield.
Dante laughed—no, Kilamahi laughed through him, her voice echoing in layered madness from his throat. The sound sent chills down the spines of every onlooker. That laugh wasn't human. It wasn't mortal. It was divine desecration.
Domikhael, fuming with wounded pride, clenched his longsword with both hands. His mana flared violently, surrounding him like a blazing inferno. With a roar that cracked the air—
"RRAAAGGHH!!!"
—he lunged forward, closing the gap with a godlike burst of speed. The wind howled in protest, and then—
BOOM!!!
A cyclone of dust and debris exploded around Dante's figure. The earth trembled under Domikhael's rage.
Silence.
Then, the dust began to clear, and Domikhael's eyes widened in disbelief.
There stood Dante—unharmed. Calm. Smirking.
And with a single pinky finger, he held the blade that should have pierced his chest.
"Tch. Bitch," Kilamahi scoffed through Dante's smile, her tone dripping with venomous playfulness.
In a single, effortless flick, Dante raised his middle finger and heep of force sent a blowing punch into Domikhael's gut. The impact plowed him backward like a ragdoll, flinging him across the field and into a mound of shattered stone.
With an almost lazy air, Dante picked up Domikhael's sword, spinning it between his fingers, his other hand casually buried in his pocket. Then—THOOM!—he drove the blade into the ground.
The earth erupted in a violent spire of force, chunks of broken terrain launching into the air like shrapnel from the gods.
"Take this, peasant!" Kilamahi hissed in glee.
The rubbles hovered mid-air, caught in a spell of anti-gravity. Then—crackling with plasma energy, each piece ignited into glowing missiles. With the flick of a finger, she launched them.
KRAK-KOOM!!!
The bombardment lit the field in streaks of red lightning and molten shards.
"AAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"
Inside Dante's mind, he whispered, his thoughts stunned, "Spacial magic…?"
He wasn't in control anymore. His limbs moved like a marionette. Kilamahi had taken over completely.
In the dreamscape of his consciousness, Kilamahi stood before him. White as moonlight, seductive as sin, her pale arms folded beneath her snow-toned breasts, lips curled into a smirk as she toyed with a nail using her sharp teeth. Her white sclera but black pupil eyes glinted with ancient knowledge and malice.
"Ahh... you know spacial magic, dear boy?" she cooed, voice drenched in sultry amusement.
"I studied it... in class. This is the first time I've actually seen it."
Kilamahi giggled mockingly. "Nerd. Bookworm." She tossed her black hair back.
Reality struck again.
"DON'T TOUCH MY BLADE, FILTH!!!"
Domikhael burst from the rubble, pure wrath in motion. He dashed toward Dante like a comet of vengeance.
But Kilamahi wasn't done playing.
Dante's hand—her hand—caught Domikhael's punch with minimal effort. The impact behind them cracked the air... but not the ground. Behind Dante, only a razor-thin 'V' line formed—no destruction, just a calculated displacement of force.
"You want your blade, doggie?" Kilamahi sneered. "Then fetch, doggy!"
With a flick of the wrist, she hurled the longsword like a javelin. It pierced through Domikhael's chest near his right lung with a sickening crunch.
In a blink, Kilamahi warped beside him, warping through space. She hammered a devastating blow downward into his torso, smashing him into the ground.
BOOM!!!
Dust and rubble exploded outward in a storm.
"Urgh!" Domikhael wheezed, coughing blood.
But he had no time to fall.
Kilamahi swung his leg and smashed Domikhael again, like a hammer to an insect. Then again. And again. She toyed with him, dragged him through the dirt with brutal grace.
"The Sinner of Pride?" she cackled. "More like the Sin of fucking ragdoll!"
Her laugh—Kilamahi's mad, euphoric laugh—rattled across the battlefield like thunder laced with malice.
Then, a blur.
She leapt and kneed Domikhael in the jaw mid-air, followed by an uppercut that sent him crashing through the cliffside like a battering ram. The mountain shook from the impact, cracks crawling like webs.
Above, storm clouds churned. Rain pelted the battlefield. Lightning screamed across the sky.
From the storm, Kilamahi summoned two long glowing chains, crackling with infernal magic. She lashed them out.
SNAP!
The chains coiled around Domikhael's neck mid-air. Kilamahi began to spin him—faster and faster—until his body blurred like a comet.
"AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA…!!!"
CRASH!!!
She hurled him downward with monstrous speed. The resulting shockwave turned the battlefield into ash and debris. A meteor of man and pain.
Dante—Kilamahi—landed perfectly in a crouch. The earth cratered beneath him.
Then—
WHIP!
With the chains still around her wrists, she yanked them violently. Domikhael's limp body followed like a meteorite.
CRACK!!!
The impact shattered the very ground beneath him into disintegrating fragments.
From the crowd—Diana, Giang, Xilang, Avabel, Evan, Zhurong, and others—they could only watch, horrified. Dante... no, Kilamahi... was a monster in flesh.
"Die! Die! Die! DIE! DIEEEE!!!" she howled, fists pounding like war drums on Domikhael's crumbling body.
A sudden blast of crimson mana shot toward Dante—an ambush.
Kilamahi smirked, waved her hand, and the energy scattered like harmless wind.
"Ohhh?" she purred, her voice honeyed with bloodlust. "So... the Sinner of fucking slow Sloth is here to entertain me?"
A slow, thunderous turn of Dante's head revealed Taouon standing at a distance, his twin swords blazing with mana. His face was pale, rain dripping down his cheeks, his eyes glowing in a fury born of grief.
"I guess Lustia was right..." Taouon muttered darkly, gazing at the torn corpse of Lustia—the Sinner of Lust. Her body had been savaged, her mana core violently ripped from her chest. By Domikhael. Her own kind.
Taouon turned back to Dante. His blade rose, trembling with killing intent.
"This time," he growled, "time to die, Dan—no..."
He froze.
The realization dawned.
Those weren't Dante's eyes.
They were ancient. Predatory. Divine.
"Kilamahi...!!!"
The battlefield seemed to freeze under that name.
Kilamahi, with Dante's body, leaned back her head and screeched a mocking, echoing laugh. She raised a middle finger at Taouon, her hand resting lazily on Dante's head like a crown of her own making.
"Let's go for a fucking ride, pussy!!!"
Her laugh rang through the chaos, unholy and unbound—like a goddess reveling in the apocalypse.
---
Chapter 25 — End.