Sirzechs was having a really bad day at this moment.
From the moment he'd woken up, things had gone downhill. First came the verbal lashing from a royally pissed-off Serafall, who was less than thrilled that he had once again shirked his duties as a commander. He'd mentioned the "prodigy"—Dante—several times, citing the boy as a critical asset, but Serafall had been having none of it. As much as she supported Dante's development, she was still a workaholic at heart and didn't appreciate being saddled with someone else's responsibilities. Her response made that abundantly clear.
Still, Sirzechs made his thoughts known as well—that he didn't give a damn. He loved Serafall like a sister, but stress tended to erode his patience, and that morning's conversation had ended with a particularly sarcastic suggestion that Ajuka assist her in removing the metaphorical spike up her ass. Conveniently, the communication link had cut out shortly afterward. He dreaded their next meeting.
Following that lovely encounter, Sirzechs had drowned in paperwork: reports from praetorians, commander updates, replacement requests for fallen squads, and even a promotion verification for a new Sentinel. That last bit worried him. The Sentinel came from the Zagan family, which only had one heir... and that heir being promoted during this time of conflict was suspicious.
Then came the second, more damning report.
The Old Satan Faction had successfully recruited the Andromalius family and mounted an assault that nearly wiped out Falbium's front vanguard in the now-captured Malphes Territory—the very same territory Dante had been found in. Clearly, the enemy was probing for any lingering anomalies left from Dante's crash. Securing that region was critical.
After trudging through that avalanche of bad news, Sirzechs finally met with Dante for their daily spar, which had begun with an absurd discussion about fishy smells and abject terror on Dante's part.
He never got the full story, but the horror on Dante's face was enough to make him abandon the subject entirely.
The spar had been productive—Dante was rapidly evolving, studying demonic elements, even manipulating energy in ways that impressed Sirzechs. But just when things seemed to calm down, Dante had pointed at the obsidian mountain, grinned like a lunatic, and blasted off toward the most dangerous point in the Gremory territory:
The source of Arc Energy in Hell.
Sirzechs could've been clearer. He hadn't meant for the boy to sprint straight to it. But Dante, being Dante, didn't wait for instructions—he ran with them, literally.
Even Sirzechs couldn't follow him all the way. He'd chased him to the mountain's base, only to watch Dante leap up the face of the monolith like a man possessed. The clouds swallowed him whole.
Sirzechs didn't dare follow.
As powerful as he was, he knew the danger of Arc Energy firsthand. He'd listened with horror as Dante explained how deadly Earth's lightning was. Arc Energy, by comparison, was worse.
So, Sirzechs waited.
One minute.
Then five.
Then ten.
And just as he turned to walk back to the Gremory estate, the sky changed.
The peak of the mountain began to glow.
"What?" he whispered, eyes wide as the heavens churned.
Had Dante been struck? That couldn't be right. Arc Energy was swift, cruel. What he was seeing wasn't that. It was something older. Something awakened.
An unsettling pressure built in his chest.
Instinctively, Sirzechs summoned his strongest barrier, encasing himself in shimmering layers of protection.
A moment later, a bolt of Arc Energy screamed down from the sky, crashing against his shield.
"HAH!" Sirzechs bellowed, struggling to maintain the barrier against the weight of the strike. His body trembled under the pressure, his wings extended to anchor him in place.
When the light faded, he looked up. The clouds were gone.
Gone.
Above the mountain, the sky was clear for the first time in millennia.
And standing at the peak was Dante.
No, not standing—wielding.
A sword unlike anything Sirzechs had ever seen was raised high in the air, its obsidian-black blade absorbing Arc Energy like it was forged from the storm itself. Crimson lightning danced around Dante's body, coiling and writhing like serpents under his command.
Then, with a reckless grin, Dante leapt.
He plummeted toward the base of the mountain, wreathed in Arc Energy so dense the sky itself screamed.
Sirzechs barely had time to dodge.
The impact was cataclysmic.
BOOOOOOM!
The sky and the Underworld were momentarily bathed in crimson light, a blinding wave of red that surged across the horizon as the centuries-old reservoir of Arc energy was finally released. The impact was instantaneous and devastating—trees at the edge of the forest were vaporized in an instant, reduced to ash and smoke by the sheer magnitude of the unleashed power.
Sirzechs remained rooted behind a fortress of barriers, each layered meticulously in anticipation. He had erected several more the moment the peak began to glow. And yet, to his astonishment, no damage befell him. The strength of his wards had been enough to withstand the largest explosion of Arc energy he had ever witnessed.
From the heart of the epicenter stood Dante, his figure barely visible through the smoke and heat haze. His outfit was in ruins—his black overcoat flaked and still faintly ablaze, while his undershirt was completely gone, incinerated by the raw force. Only his trousers and boots remained intact.
With casual indifference, Dante shrugged off the remnants of his ruined coat, letting it fall to the scorched earth. His attention turned to the blade in his hands, its obsidian sheen gleaming with latent energy.
Sirzechs' breath hitched.
"You have got to be kidding me..." he muttered, stunned.
Dante glanced up at the devil and grinned. "Huh? Oh, Sirzechs! Check this out!" he called, waving from the center of the massive crater as if he hadn't just torn a hole in the sky.
Sirzechs didn't move. His eyes were fixed on the sword in Dante's grip—an onyx blade with a golden, ring-wrapped hilt. He knew that sword.
"Infernum... F-Fulgur," he whispered, recognizing it instantly. "The Hellstorm Blade."
Dante raised a brow. "This guy's got a name?" he asked, glancing at the blade. "You mean to tell me you had a name and never introduced yourself? Rude."
The blade shimmered faintly in response.
"Oh, don't give me that attitude. Common courtesy demands introductions. Otherwise, you're getting some whack nickname like 'Ol' Bessie' or something edgy like 'Rebellion.'"
The sword glowed again, brighter this time.
"Wait—You actually want me to call you that?! Hell no! I ain't calling you 'Mommy.' You sound like a dude!"
Sirzechs' left eye twitched at the exchange.
"I don't care what gender you identify as—you don't sound like a Mommy," Dante continued, as if scolding a petulant child.
Sirzechs finally spoke up, his tone heavy with the weight of his day. "Dante... Can you please calm down and come here."
Dante turned away from the sword to look at the devil, suspicion clear in his eyes. "No. You're gonna hit me."
Sirzechs blinked. He was, in fact, going to hit him. Hard.
"Come. Here," he repeated, spacing each word like a commandment.
"I don't care if you put periods in between your words. I ain't moving."
A vein throbbed in Sirzechs' forehead. He drew in a deep breath and roared, "BOY!"
Dante flinched at the shout, eyes widening. Sirzechs took it as a victory.
"We will discuss your reckless behavior later. Now come. We have much training ahead."
With that, Sirzechs turned and began the long walk back toward the Gremory estate, still miles away.
Dante stood motionless, watching him go. Infernum Fulgur pulsed softly in his grip.
"Hush now, Fulgur," Dante muttered, stroking the sword gently. "Inadvertent meme references are rare. I must savor this moment."
"BOY!"
The woods at the base of the obsidian mountain were soon filled with giggles. Though history would remember this day as a turning point—the birth of a legend—the Crimson Satan would always recall it simply as another day with Dante Vale Gremory.
A man full of surprises.