Dante's body didn't fall like something dead… because it was no longer a body obeying the logic of death, but rather an existence that insisted on remaining even after being reduced to something that should, by any reasonable definition, cease to exist, and yet, before everyone, the two separated halves began to react grotesquely, trembling erratically as flesh, bones, and energy reconnected as if pulled by an invisible force that refused the concept of end, compelling each fragment to return to its original place, even if it completely violated the natural structure of the world around it.

The joining wasn't clean, it wasn't smooth, it wasn't even coherent with anything alive… it was violent, abrupt, as if two incompatible parts were forced to coexist again, and the instant his spine realigned with a dry snap, Dante arched his body and let out a yell laden with pain, frustration, and accumulated rage, a scream so intense it seemed to want to tear not only the air, but the very reality that dared to place him in that position, and without even fully recovering his breath, his voice exploded in raw fury, without any filter or control.

"YOU BASTARD!!!" echoed across the battlefield like a desperate declaration from someone who could no longer accept what was happening.

Vergil… simply agreed, without any hesitation, without exaggerated irony, without explicit provocation, only slightly tilting his head as if he were truly considering the statement, and then nodded simply, almost too politely for the chaotic scene around them, his voice coming out calm, stable, completely disconnected from Dante's emotional intensity, as if they were discussing something trivial in a neutral environment.

"Yes… currently I'm a wretch," and for a brief moment, his eyes analyzed Dante not with anger or contempt, but with a cold and calculating curiosity, before completing, with the same disturbing naturalness, "…with an almost nonexistent power limit… you'll have to work very hard to match me."

The answer didn't come in words, because Dante was no longer in a state where arguing made sense; He simply advanced, driven by raw impulse, by wounded instinct, by an almost animalistic need to prove that he still had control over something in that scenario, appearing in front of Vergil with a direct attack, charged with energy and desperation, but before the blow could even truly exist within the space between them, Yamato moved—not with a visible arc, not with preparation, but with a single cut so precise and absolute that the world didn't even have time to react—and then… Dante stopped.

For a single second, everything stood still, as if nothing had happened, his eyes still fixed on Vergil, his posture frozen mid-attack, and then, without warning, without transition… his body collapsed, not into large parts, not into recognizable pieces, but into billions of tiny, perfectly cut cubes, a fragmentation so absurd it seemed more like a mathematical concept than something physical, forming a grotesque pile of impossibly arranged flesh, while only his head remained intact, slowly rolling until it stopped atop that distorted mass of himself, his eyes still open, still conscious… still angry.

And yet… he returned, because each fragment began to move simultaneously, as if they all shared a single will, reorganizing themselves with frightening precision, reconstructing the body in a matter of seconds, making it more of a demonstration of absurdity than a proper recovery, and when he finally stood again, breathing heavily, still trembling between anger and disbelief, Vergil merely observed, with a slight smile that carried not amusement, but genuine interest, like someone who had just found something rare, something useful, something… worthy of study.

"I have to admit…" he began, slowly twirling Yamato in his hand while his voice maintained that calm tone, almost too relaxed for the situation, "…this is impressive… your regeneration is absurd," and for a brief moment, he actually seemed to consider something, his eyes narrowing slightly not in threat, but in analysis, before concluding simply, directly, and almost offensively casually

"…I'm thinking of using you as a punching bag… to learn more about my new abilities."

Dante didn't respond immediately, but his body reacted, tensing, his muscles contracting while his aura trembled unsteadily, because now… he was beginning to understand, and this understanding was worse than any physical pain he had ever felt up to that point, because Vergil wasn't really fighting, wasn't taking this seriously… he was learning, testing, experimenting, using Dante not as an enemy, but as a resource, a tool, and that… that was humiliating on a level that even his unstable mind couldn't fully process.

It was then that Vergil took a deep breath, slowly, not like someone preparing to attack, but like someone about to release something that had been contained for too long, and his aura changed, not in explosive intensity, but in depth, something more fundamental began to emerge, something that wasn't just energy, but pure presence, concept, existence expanding beyond the natural limits of that space, and then… his wings began to sprout.

They didn't appear simply or directly… they manifested as if being ripped from another layer of reality, tearing through the surrounding space as they unfolded, and the first pair emerged with an almost divine appearance, gigantic wings covered in immaculate white feathers, but profoundly wrong, because each feather pulsed slightly as if alive, and between them… red eyes opened, dozens of them, observing everything around them with their own consciousness, blinking independently, following movements they shouldn't even be able to perceive.

The second pair came right below, completely different, dense and grotesque demonic wings, with black membranes traversed by pulsating veins carrying dark energy, torn in several places as if they had survived impossible battles, and in them also were eyes, embedded in the very flesh, opening and closing slowly, as if breathing along with the living structure of those wings.

The third pair was even more disturbing, black, feathered wings that didn't reflect light, but absorbed it completely, creating a constant feeling of emptiness around them, as if pieces of space were being erased there, and between each layer of feathers… more eyes, countless, all red, all alert, all conscious, transforming that structure into something that completely transcended the common idea of ​​wings.

And then… the last pair appeared, larger than all the others, surpassing any reasonable scale, a grotesque fusion of all the previous forms, combining feathers, flesh, membranes, and bone structures in an impossible way, as if different concepts had been forced to coexist in a single point, and in them were hundreds of eyes, all open, all staring, all alive, creating a constant feeling of absolute surveillance, as if the world itself were being observed by something much larger than it could bear.

Each of those wings easily exceeded one hundred meters in length, eight in total, dominating the sky and completely distorting the perception of scale of the battlefield, making even the colossal presence of Ouroboros seem… distant, secondary for a brief instant, while the mere movement of them produced a sound that wasn't wind, but of flesh shifting, of blinking eyes, of something too alive to be comfortable.

The entire field reacted, not by choice, but by instinct, Amon taking a step back without realizing it, Paimon freezing for an instant, Phenex falling completely silent, while even Sapphire, who maintained her smile, understood the fundamental difference between raw power… and what was before them now, something that could no longer be categorized within any known hierarchy.

Vergil fully opened his wings, occupying the surrounding space like an entity that shouldn't exist on that plane, and then looked at Dante with an almost offensive calm, his eyes carrying only curiosity, interest… and a slight trace of expectation, before finally speaking, with the same naturalness as before, "…let's really begin now."

Dante didn't advance this time, and that in itself was wrong enough to completely shatter the image he had been maintaining until then, because it wasn't fear, it wasn't calculation, it wasn't strategy…

It was hesitation, pure and simple, an involuntary pause that arose in the midst of a chaos where he had always been the first to launch himself, and while his body was already regenerated once again, whole, functional, pulsating with that unstable energy that insisted on keeping him existing against all odds, something inside him… simply didn't keep up with the process.

His eyes moved slowly across the battlefield, but not arrogantly, not with that dominant gaze of someone who saw himself above all others, but with something much heavier, more dragging, as if he were trying to find an answer that wouldn't come, and the first place he looked was the sky, where Ifrit had once dominated with his absurd presence, but now…

Now that had been replaced by something much worse, something that didn't burn, but consumed in another way, Ouroboros, still traversing the dimensional rift, his colossal body emerging slowly and inevitably, as if the concept of time simply didn't apply to him, and that sight alone was enough to make it clear that the scene no longer revolved around Dante.

His gaze then descended to the surrounding field, and what he saw was not submission, not reaction, not even hostility directed specifically at him, but something far more unsettling…

Indifference, because Amon no longer observed him as a threat worthy of undivided attention, Paimon no longer displayed that provocative interest, Phenex remained silent, Lilith merely watched as someone who already knew the outcome of it all, and even Sapphire, who had previously confronted him with absolute intensity, no longer seemed focused on him in the same way, as if Dante had ceased to be the center of that battle without even realizing when it happened.

And then… he looked at Vergil, and in that instant, any attempt to maintain his own internal narrative truly began to crumble, because it wasn't just the power, it wasn't just the grotesque, gigantic wings stretching across the sky with those countless red eyes observing everything around, it was the way he existed within that space, a presence that didn't need to impose itself, didn't need to explode, didn't need to prove anything, because the world around him simply…

Accepted it, adjusted to it, reorganized itself around him as if it were natural, as if it had always been that way, and that difference, that simple difference of "acceptance"… was enough to crush any title Dante might have received.

And as if to reinforce this cruel irony, the voice came again, echoing within him with that same mechanical, feminine, distant tone, like something devoid of emotion, yet carrying absolute authority in every word it uttered.

[KING status granted to the entity named "Dante"]

And for an instant, for a single second, it should have meant something, it should have caused a change, an evolution, a response… but it caused nothing, absolutely nothing, because his aura didn't grow, his body didn't react, his presence didn't expand, and most importantly… no one around him changed the way they saw him.

Dante frowned slowly, as if trying to grasp a simple concept that had suddenly become impossible to process, and his breathing became irregular, not from lack of strength, but from confusion, from accumulated frustration, from something that didn't fit, and then his voice came out low, almost drawn out, carrying a tone that no longer matched the figure he was trying to maintain.

"...no..." and then, he repeated it, faster, more unsteadily, as if trying to convince himself, "...no, no, no, no..." while bringing his hand to his head, pressing hard, as if that were enough to reorganize his thoughts.

"I AM A KING...!" He screamed, but this time there was no weight, no impact, none of that sense of authority that had previously accompanied his words, because the world… simply didn't respond, and that's what truly broke something inside him, because it wasn't a physical defeat, it wasn't a blow, it wasn't pain… it was absence, it was emptiness, it was the complete lack of validation of something he believed to be absolute, and slowly, his eyes began to tremble as he looked around, as if expecting someone, anyone, to react to it, to confirm it… but nobody did anything.

It was then that he felt it, not as a direct attack, not as overwhelming pressure, but as something constant, subtle, and inevitable, spreading throughout the environment, as if the very space around him were… resisting him, because every attempt to expand his energy encountered an invisible blockage, every movement seemed slightly heavier, every breath required more effort than it should, and this sensation did not come from a specific source, it could not be fought, it could not be attacked… because it came from everything, from all sides at the same time, as if the world itself were pushing against him.

His eyes widened slowly as he took a small, involuntary step back, his mind trying to find a logical explanation for it, but failing completely, because nothing made sense within the framework he believed he understood, and his voice came out again, lower, more unsteady, carrying something that was dangerously approaching despair.

"…this doesn't make sense…" and then, louder, more desperate, "I RECEIVED THE STATUS—!! I AM A KING—!!" But the echo of his words died in the air, without response, without reaction, as if not even the environment itself considered it relevant.

Vergil observed everything in silence, without interrupting, without provoking, without even moving, because there was no need, since Dante himself was dissolving without him needing to do absolutely anything, and when he finally spoke, his voice came out low, calm, without any trace of exaggerated superiority, just… pure observation.

"Now you understand…" and as he said this, his eyes fixed on Dante's with absolute coldness, like someone who had already experienced that same kind of understanding at some distant point.

"…no matter what the system gives you…" he continued, unhurriedly, each word carrying a weight that didn't come from power, but from truth, "…if the world doesn't accept you… you are nothing."

And at that moment… there was no answer, no reaction, no cry, because Dante, for the first time since the beginning of it all, had absolutely nothing to say.