What remained of Dante could no longer be called a body.

It was a living mass in constant collapse, a grotesque fusion of flesh, energy, and error, compulsively reorganizing itself as opposing forces tore him apart from the inside out without any respite. Yet... he didn’t stop.

And that was precisely what made the demons change.

They stopped trying to destroy him.

And they began to break him.

Amon kept his hand firmly on his neck, his venomous energy now much denser, more refined, not only invading Dante’s body but penetrating directly into his mental structure, like an acid that corroded thoughts, dissolved patterns, disintegrated any attempt at coherence.

"Body... regenerates," he murmured, his voice low and utterly cold. "But mind... always fails first."

Paimon smiled behind him.

But now... there was real intent in that smile.

It didn’t just increase the lust. She directed it.

She transformed it into a continuous storm of contradictory, extreme impulses, impossible to satisfy or organize, forcing Dante’s consciousness to fragment in multiple directions at once, as if each part of him desired something different... and none could be fulfilled.

"Let’s see how much you can take... being yourself," she whispered.

And then others came.

Phenex raised her hand, and flames erupted—

But they weren’t like Agares’ flames.

They were flames of the soul.

They burned memories.

They burned identity.

Each flame that touched Dante tore away fragments of who he was, reducing them to ashes before they could even be reorganized.

Astaroth advanced next.

Her presence didn’t crush.

She... observed.

And then distorted.

His energy enveloped Dante like a fog, altering perception, blurring the lines between reality and illusion, causing every sensation to be multiplied, amplified, distorted into something far worse than it actually was.

Pain turned to agony.

Instinct turned to despair.

Existence turned to error.

Dante opened his mouth—

But the sound that came out...

It was no longer laughter.

It was no longer taunting.

It was... fragmented.

Disconnected.

His mind was being pulled in too many directions.

Destroyed not by brute force...

But by sheer overload.

And yet—

He still resisted.

He still existed.

He still... tried.

In the distance—

Sephirothy watched.

Her eyes were no longer focused on the battle.

But on Vergil.

On his body.

On what was happening.

Something was wrong.

And she knew.

She turned quickly to Seris.

"Can you teleport someone... if you know their exact location?" she asked, her voice direct, leaving no room for beating around the bush.

Seris looked at her, surprised by the question, still maintaining the flow of energy around Vergil’s body.

"I can," she replied, panting, her aura unstable from the continuous effort. "But... with the mana I have now..." she hesitated for a second. "...probably only once."

Sephirothy nodded.

Without hesitation.

Without a doubt.

And then—

She revealed.

Her wings opened.

Not one.

Not two.

But six.

Demonic wings emerged first, large, membranous, resembling those of a bat, laden with dense, dark energy that distorted the air around them.

But then—

Two feathered wings opened. White.

Pure.

Charged with a completely opposite energy.

And then—

Two more.

Black.

Feathered.

Heavy.

Like a corrupted echo of something that was once divine.

Demon.

Angel.

Fallen angel.

Everything.

At the same time.

Her presence changed completely.

The air grew heavier.

More unstable.

More... dangerous.

She looked directly at Seris.

Her eyes were calm.

But there was something definite there.

"What I’m going to do..." she began, her voice low but firm. "...will cost me my life."

Seris froze.

"But that doesn’t matter."

A second.

"Just... don’t mess it up."

And then—

She spoke.

The coordinates.

And the instant Seris heard—

Her eyes widened.

"This isn’t—"

She couldn’t finish.

"NOW." Sepphirothy ordered.

No room for discussion.

Seris hesitated.

For a fraction of a second.

And then—

She acted.

Magic circles began to appear around her, complex, unstable, consuming every remaining drop of mana as they aligned with absurd precision, connecting that point... to a place that shouldn’t be accessed.

Space trembled.

Reality hesitated.

And then—

Sepphirothy disappeared.

Without a sound.

Without a trace.

She just... was gone.

Seris stood still for a moment.

Breathing heavily.

Staring at the empty point where she had been.

And then she whispered—

"...She’s gone..."

Her voice faltered. "...to the most deadly place that exists for her."

The transition was not smooth.

There was no passage.

There was no path.

Only... rupture.

And then—

Light.

But not ordinary light.

It was absolute.

It filled everything.

Directions ceased to make sense, space seemed to expand infinitely in all directions while golden clouds stretched like silent oceans, rippling slowly under a nonexistent breeze, each particle of that place carrying an oppressive, overwhelming... hostile purity.

Sephirothy appeared in the middle of it.

Alone.

Suspended in the golden void.

Her six wings spread, contrasting violently with that perfect environment, her own existence seeming... wrong there, like a stain on a canvas that did not accept imperfections.

She looked up.

And then she saw.

One.

Two.

One hundred.

One thousand.

And then—

One billion.

Angels.

All aligned.

All in formation.

All with weapons raised.

Swords of light.

Divine spears.

Bows made of pure celestial energy.

Pointed directly at her.

Without hesitation.

Without doubt.

Without mercy.

"Heaven."

The absolute dimension.

The domain of what mortals called God.

But that... wasn’t just a place.

It was a system.

And in that system—

She was a threat.

The air vibrated.

And then—

They appeared.

They didn’t descend.

They didn’t appear.

They simply... were there.

The Archangels.

Seven presences that distorted the very concept of authority in that space, each carrying a different, but equally overwhelming weight.

Michael.

On the front line.

His sword already drawn, his presence cutting through space like a living blade.

Baraquiel, his expression filled with utter contempt.

Uriel, enveloped in flames that didn’t burn flesh... but existence.

And Gabriel—

Silent.

Immobile.

Her long, light pink hair floating gently as her eyes observed.

No apparent judgment.

But no acceptance.

And then—

More.

Much more.

The Celestial Virtues began to manifest around them, superior entities that didn’t even possess a fixed form, masses of condensed divine energy vibrating with pure purpose.

And above—

He.

Metatron.

Not as a body.

Not as a form.

But as a presence.

A dominant consciousness observing everything from a point impossible to locate, but absolutely impossible to ignore.

Sephirothy was surrounded.

Completely. No escape route.

No space.

No time.

And yet—

She smiled.

"I came to negotiate~"

Her voice echoed softly.

Almost light.

Almost carefree.

And for a second—

Silence answered.

But then—

Miguel moved.

There was no warning.

There was no speech.

His sword cut through space—

And pierced through.

Straight.

Sepphirothy’s demonic wings.

The impact was clean.

Brutal.

Definitive.

The membranous wings were simply... trimmed, disintegrated by pure sacred energy, disappearing as if they had never existed.

Her body suffered the impact.

But she didn’t recoil.

She didn’t fall.

She just... felt.

And continued smiling.

Baraquiel took a half-step forward, his gaze filled with utter disgust.

"Filthy beings like you..." his voice came out heavy, each word laden with contempt. "...have no right to even exist in this place."

Uriel raised his flaming sword.

The blade vibrated.

Ready.

"We have a contract," he said, his voice more controlled, but still firm. "But that doesn’t give you the right to invade this plane."

A second.

"Go away."

His energy surged slightly.

"Because I really don’t want to have to kill you here."

Gabriel remained silent.

Just watching.

His eyes fixed on Sepphirothy.

Analyzing.

Weighing.

And then—

Sepphirothy laughed.

Loosely.

Softly.

But... heavy.

She raised her face slightly, completely ignoring the loss of her demonic wings, as if it were irrelevant.

"You’re so dramatic..." she murmured.

Her eyes gleamed.

For an instant—

Something dangerous flashed through them.

"In my current condition..." she continued, tilting her head slightly, her voice still calm, still light. "...I could kill the seven Archangels."

The silence grew heavy.

Dense.

The weapons tightened.

The energies surged.

"...and then steal your powers."

One second.

Two.

She smiled.

But this time—

It was sharper.

"But relax."

She raised her hand slightly.

No hostility.

No attack.

"I didn’t come here for that."

Her eyes rose.

Directly.

To the point where not even space dared to exist correctly.

"I just want to talk to Him."

The answer came without sound.

Without echo.

Without form.

But still... absolute.

Metatron spoke.

Not through audible words, but as a direct imposition on the surrounding reality, a negation that traversed space and fixed itself in Sephirothy’s very existence.

"He doesn’t want to talk to you."

The phrase wasn’t spoken.

It was imposed.

Irrefutable.

Final.

But Sepphirothy... already knew.

Her smile didn’t change.

In fact—

It deepened.

Because while they spoke...

She was doing something.

Silently.

Discreetly.

Dangerously.

Her demonic energy began to dissipate.

Not as a loss.

But as an exchange.

Each fragment of infernal power that left her body was replaced... by divine energy.

Pure.

Raw.

Extracted directly from that plane.

Forced.

Absorbed.

Converted.

It was a violation.

A heresy.

An impossibility.

And yet... it was happening.

Her presence began to change.

The density of her aura shifted every second, becoming lighter, higher... more acceptable in that environment that should have completely rejected her.

Uriel was the first to notice.

His eyes narrowed.

And then—

The intention changed.

"Arrest her." Her voice came immediately. Cold. No room for interpretation.

But—

Too late.

Sephirothy had already finished.

Her eyes gleamed.

And she moved.

There was no visible displacement.

Only—

Impact.

Her foot was already colliding with Michael’s face, an absurd kick, charged not only with physical force but with newly acquired divine energy, exploding on contact and launching the Archangel away like a projectile, piercing layers of golden clouds as if they were paper.

She didn’t stop.

She was already in front of Uriel.

Before any reaction was possible.

Her hand reached out—

And took.

The sword.

The divine blade of flames.

Snatched directly from the Archangel’s hand.

Without sufficient resistance.

Without time.

Without permission.

Uriel’s eyes widened—

But Sephirothy had already turned her body.

And attacked.

Raphael.

The blow came swiftly.

Cleanly.

Directly.

Forcing the Archangel to recoil, his energy reacting instantly to block, but still being pushed back by the absurd violence of that charge.

And then—

She changed.

Not gradually.

Not slowly.

But completely.

Her horns—

Disappeared.

Replaced by a halo.

Perfect.

Radiant.

Her black wings—

Lightened.

Transforming once more into pure angelic wings.

The demonic wings—

Vanished.

As if they had never existed.

And then—

Two more appeared.

Six wings.

Completely divine.

Perfect.

Accepted.

Belonging.

She opened her arms slightly.

Feeling.

Absorbing.

Savoring.

"Ah~" her voice came out softly, almost satisfied, a genuine smile appearing on her lips. "I feel so pure."

The silence around them... was broken by tension.

Weapons raised.

Energy gathered.

But no one moved in time.

She gently twirled Uriel’s sword in her hand.

As if it were already hers.

"Thank you for the power," she said, smiling.

And then—

She cut.

Not ordinary space.

But the very fabric of dimension.

The divine blade tore the fabric of that plane in a single clean movement, creating an unstable fissure that should not exist in that absolute place.

And without hesitation—

She entered.

And disappeared.

Leaving behind...

The silent Heavens.

And Archangels—

Furious.