Steel met what should have been flesh.
But wasn't.
The blade skidded instead.
A metallic shriek split the air as Dante's sword scraped against Raizel's shoulder—not flesh but living flame wrapped in momentum's armor. The strike didn't cleave clean; it dragged, flinging sparks and embers like scattered stars as it carved a shallow groove across hide transformed into molten defense.
The beast had become a walking furnace.
Raizel rolled with the impact, converting execution into glancing wound. Flames erupted along his hide, racing up his mane and horns like fire given hunger and consciousness.
Dante's feet barely touched ground before retaliation came.
A hoof swept horizontally—not a downward crush but a sweeping scythe that cleaved the horizon. The force alone demolished buildings half a mile distant. Dante dove beneath the arc, the heat boiling moisture from his skin as he escaped death by a hair's breadth.
