The battle between both paragons tore at the land—a destruction without effort, an unfair devastation.
Both combatants, regardless of the disparity in size, moved with a terror that fractured the earth beneath them. Paragon Raizel's speed was blinding, uncatchable; his form whistled through the wind as he blurred past with devastating precision.
The faster he moved, the more catastrophic his strikes became.
When he unleashed his abilities, the effect on the surroundings worsened exponentially. Echo replicated his attacks, but Paragon Raizel's body—like a tempest incarnate—ferociously rebuffed everything that touched its hide, scattering attacks away with brutal indifference.
Colossal gashes scarred buildings, shredding their structures and making them crumble. Deep grooves carved into the earth like ancient wounds, testimony to the power unleashed.
The air filled with the cataclysmic symphony of destruction.
Burning Storm's attacks proved most troublesome. He embodied raw power—his mere movement sending earthquakes rippling outward, causing stones to scatter and break free from one another.
When the cutting property of the flames that burned on his back—like the manes of a prideful ruler—touched the scenery, it suffered. Yet the Unification Complex stood like an untouchable observer.
Of course, the reason was none other than the ferocious beast of burning storm itself, lumbering through the land and leaving chaos in its wake.
He collided with the seemingly tiny human, generating shockwaves that devastated wind, sky, and land alike.
The entire estate looked as though whatever lay beneath the earth clawed desperately for freedom. The ground, heavily wounded and bleeding, bore thousands of cracks that crisscrossed everywhere. Chunks of stone lay broken, harvested from the shattered ground.
Gaping holes marked where Dante had been crushed repeatedly.
Even as the battle raged on, the very scenery seemed to strain under their might.
As Dante hurtled toward Burning Storm, he divided into seven different versions of himself, each one a glass reflecting the dull, cold light of night.
He landed on cracked stone with the grace of a dying comet—heavy, inevitable, burning with finality.
Each of the seven mirrored versions followed suit, landing around Raizel in a perfect crescent. They moved in eerie unison, each one twitching with the same cold purpose, eyes gleaming with identical hatred.
This was Dante's talent—deceptively simple yet profoundly complex. It mirrored the same technique he'd used against the young soldier moments ago.
By enforcing his will upon reality itself—the first stage of Essence Manifestation.
What should have been subtle had been pushed beyond conventional limits, just as Raizel had demonstrated. A Paragon could stretch the boundaries of what was deemed possible.
The secret lay hidden within their True Name.
It was about discovering the intricate relationship between one's true name, soul, and talent.
The mental burden alone was staggering, compounded by the scarcity of records concerning true names. During the early devastation of Tra'el, when Ul first appeared, Drifters guarded their true names jealously—each one a cipher that revealed hints about their talents and, crucially, their weaknesses.
Recording true names proved largely futile; no two were identical, just as no two talents mirrored each other perfectly.
So the mystery remained where it belonged—with the Drifters themselves.
In those early ages, Drifters faced horrors that drove them to newfound understanding. Those times had witnessed powers beyond even Paragons, yet paradoxically, one might call this current era an age of peace.
The heroes had sacrificed immeasurably to forge this better world.
One such hero had ruled the Central Plains during the early stages of division. Later, as other Paragons emerged, the Central Plains fractured into different nations and clans.
Yet its center of power remained unshaken.
This was hardly the moment for history lessons, but witnessing how Dante had also grasped the meaning of his true name, Raizel felt genuine gratitude warm his chest.
He took comfort knowing he wasn't alone on this path.
There was Ral too, with his enigmatic servants.
Soon, many formidable individuals would rise again across the Central Plains.
And the Age of Heroes would return.
While Dante's ability appeared to create clones, it was infinitely more sophisticated—he had fragmented himself across slivers of absolute motion, each copy not a mere duplicate, but a real moment pulled from alternate instants of intent.
The storm-beast growled low, emerald eyes narrowing. He saw it. He understood. These weren't illusions. They were choices—seven different moments of Dante, materialized all at once, striking simultaneously from seven futures that could all be real.
And they moved.
The first Dante blurred, sword flashing low at Raizel's tendon. Another swept in from behind, his blade reversing in grip to stab upward beneath the ribcage. A third leapt high, twisting mid-air for a descending overhead slash aimed at the beast's horned skull.
Each Dante—flawless. Merciless. United.
But Raizel was more than muscle and momentum.
He stopped thinking.
Let instinct rule.
With a roar that shattered the sky, he spun—his bulwark body accelerating beyond any perceivable rhythm. Crimson fire erupted outward, a whirlwind of soul-ignited momentum, so fast the wind couldn't keep up.
The first Dante vanished—scattered like glass.
The second ducked, but the shockwave still found him—hurling him into a wall that crumbled under the impact. Another dissolved in mid-lunge, his path intercepted by a tail wreathed in white-hot energy.
Only three remained—and they struck.
Blades connected.
Will connected.
This time, Raizel roared in pain. Real pain. One blade cut across his jaw. Another pierced just beneath the armpit. The third—Dante's true self—drove his sword into the shoulder, twisting deep and unleashing a surge of kinetic backlash that detonated from within the beast's body.
Raizel staggered. The ground split again, stone recoiling beneath his hooves.
But he did not fall.
Instead, he hooked Dante with his curved horns, lunging forward with explosive ferocity. He reared up, building devastating momentum, then crashed downward, slamming Dante into the earth with the full weight of his skull behind the blow.
The ground shattered at first impact.
But Raizel did not relent. He roared ferociously, his voice soaring skyward as the heavens themselves darkened in response.
A massive crater rippled outward as he smashed his head against the ground a second time.
The third impact split the sky.
Dante's body crumpled beneath the beast's horns, driven deeper into the yielding earth—stone gave way to molten veins, dirt transmuted to steam, and the crater widened until it became a scar that had consumed the entire estate.
And Raizel—Burning Storm—roared.
His voice was not merely sound, but physical pressure. The sky peeled back. Clouds tore open like wounded cloth. Lightning dared not strike—it fled.
Then, silence. Just for a breath.
Raizel stood over the ruin, steam rising from his bestial body, heat waves bending the horizon around him.
Then... his emerald eyes narrowed.
He felt it.
The shift in the atmosphere.
And a pulse.
A soundless throb that rattled his bones. A whisper not from Dante's mouth, but from the very seams of reality itself.
Then the ground beneath Raizel's hooves transmuted to crystal.
Light erupted upward from the crater, pure and prismatic, scattering across the battlefield in radiant arcs.
In that moment, Raizel flinched, carrying his massive body through the air in a swift motion, as if borne aloft by the wind itself.
He landed at a distance, unleashing a terrifying shockwave that rippled outward, further ravaging the already devastated landscape. Standing in the center of a circle of cracked and splintered ground, he observed the metamorphosis Dante was undergoing.
It seemed, at last, the Lieutenant had decided to unveil his Essence Manifestation.
And Burning Storm watched with anticipation, eager to witness the true form of his best friend's soul made manifest.