[Realm: Álfheimr]
[Location: Outskirts]
Dante's thoughts settled.
Cerberus would not remain whole. It never did when pressed. The beast relied on an overwhelming presence, and when that failed, it fractured—three instincts tearing away from a single will.
("They'll split again,") Dante noted calmly.
His gaze turned, briefly, not toward the hound—but toward Echidna.
She stood some distance behind Cerberus, one pale hand pressed against her face once more, fingers digging in as though attempting to hold something back. Her coils were tense, her posture rigid and irritation bleeding into form.
("…Hmph.") He did not want to acknowledge it. But the truth was simple enough to admit, even if only to himself. ("Arielle helped. Marginally.")
Not because he required it. Not because the outcome depended on it. But the interference had bought him a fraction of time—no more than a breath, perhaps—but sometimes a breath was enough.
That was all.
The moment passed and Cerberus roared.
