The air in the camp crackled with a tension thicker than the forest gloom. It was a standoff between two forces of nature: a storm of glowing rage and beautiful madness.
Dante stood in the center of it all.
Crackle.
Flames licked at Erica's fingertips while Lana's staff hummed with a barely held-back, violent energy.
He stepped between them, a physical wall against their coming duel. The heat from Erica's power washed over his left side, while a chilling, chaotic feeling came from Lana on his right.
"Release this killing intent," he said, his voice low and dangerously calm. He looked directly at Lana.
"I took you into this team to increase our chance of survival, and this is what you show me? An immediate attempt to break it apart?"
"Dante, you and I can easily survive without them," she purred, her amethyst eyes locking onto his, completely dismissing Erica. "We're the only ones who truly matter."
He stopped her with a single, sharp glare before turning to his other problem. "Erica," he said, his tone full of a cold disappointment that he knew would hurt her more than any physical hit.
"What were you doing? Do you have any idea how much thought I put into our strategy? I made a proper team, balancing our strengths and weaknesses for the dangerous tasks ahead."
"And here you are, ready to destroy all of it over a petty squabble. Is your personal jealousy more important than the survival of this entire group?"
The fire at her fingertips sputtered and died. Her head dropped, her face a mask of shame. "No," she whispered. "I'm sorry."
Lana, seeing Erica scolded, opened her mouth to gloat, but Dante silenced her with a look. They were both silent now, two powerful weapons temporarily put away.
"That's settled, then," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "We don't have time for this childishness. Lana, you will behave and work with the team."
"Masha," he called out, "keep her in check. I'm holding you responsible for her."
Masha, watching from a safe distance, gave a weary, reluctant nod.
But Lana was not so easily controlled. "The hell with the team!" she snapped. Her playful attitude was gone, replaced by a raw, desperate feeling.
"I'm not done. I am not leaving your side, Dante, and that's final."
She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "This place is dangerous. Every step we take is like walking closer to a dead end."
"I need to protect you. From all threats. Whether they're outside," she paused, her wild eyes sweeping over the rest of the team, "or inside."
"You are naive, Dante," she insisted, her voice softening, her eyes suddenly welling up with glistening, theatrical tears. "You still think they're your friends."
"You don't see the whispers, the looks they give you when they think you're not watching. They fear you. And fear leads to betrayal."
"Let me stay with you. Let me be your shield, your sword. Please."
He let out a short, sharp sigh of pure annoyance.
Tsssh.
'It was a masterful performance. The tears, the plea, the fake concern all of it was a carefully built trick to get what she wanted.'
'But arguing with her is like arguing with a hurricane. It is a waste of energy.'
"I don't think you'll change your mind," he said, his voice flat with resignation. He turned to the rest of the tense, silent group. "Fine. We're swapping one teammate. Jin, you join Eric's team."
"Hell no!" Erica exploded, her shame forgotten, replaced by a new wave of fury. "I'm not—"
Before she could finish her tantrum, he cut her off. "Fine," he snapped, his patience finally wearing thin. "One more teammate is swapping."
"Kael, you join Eric's team as well. Now it is complete." He fixed them all with a glare that dared them to argue further. "We move on to our objectives. Now."
The finality in his tone was absolute. The argument was over.
The parting was a tense, awkward affair.
Eric, now leading a team of five, gave Dante a solemn nod. His group consisted of himself, the unshakeable shield; Masha, the cold and calculating Cryomancer; Rina, their vital, gentle healer; Jin, their most disciplined swordsman; and Kael, their new, versatile Mimic.
They were a balanced, powerful force. They would succeed.
His team, however, was a collection of unstable, powerful, and emotionally messy assets. And as they turned to head in the opposite direction, toward their own set of artifacts, the problems began immediately.
Lana, her victory secured, wasted no time.
She skipped to his side, her previous tearful plea completely forgotten, and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, pressing herself against his back.
"See?" she whispered in his ear. "This is much better."
He knew something was off. The air grew ten degrees hotter. He glanced over his shoulder.
Erica was walking a few feet away, her fists clenched so tight her knuckles were white.
Drip.
A single drop of blood fell from where she was biting her lower lip. Her eyes were shooting daggers of pure hatred at Lana's back.
'What the hell,' Dante thought, a wave of profound irritation washing over him. 'Why does it always happen to me? Two yanderas. And the two most powerful ones, at that.'
From behind him, he heard a soft, stifled laugh. He turned to see Talia watching the drama unfold, a look of pure, unadulterated amusement on her face.
She caught his eye and gave him a subtle, mocking wink.
Erica didn't say anything more. She never did. That was her personality.
She was too shy, too insecure to voice her possessiveness directly.
She would just let it fester, let it build into a simmering rage that would eventually explode. Lana, on the other hand, had no such limits.
She was a creature of pure impulse.
'This is going to be a long, exhausting week.'
But his team was ready. His new, chaotic, and incredibly powerful team. He had himself, the Necromancer King.
He had Lana, the Weapon Master, a beautiful agent of chaos. He had Erica, the Valkyrie of Flame, whose power was directly tied to her emotional instability.
He had Talia, the Blade Dancer with the Kinetic Eye, their precise and deadly assassin. And he had Edgar, the loyal Appraiser.
And, of course, he had his true team. His six loyal, silent summons, ready to be called upon at a moment's notice.
His gaze went unfocused as he mentally reviewed his army. First, the Orc Champion, his new frontline Juggernaut, a puppet of immense physical strength and durability.
Then, the ghost of Derek, the Crimson Juggernaut, whose Spectral Strike and Aura of Dread made him a terrifying shock trooper.
Beside him in his mind stood the Guardian, the shadow of the Wardcrafter, whose Phantom Ward was his absolute defense.
Then the Deceiver, the ghost of the Phantasmist, his key to sowing chaos with its Ghostly Images.
And finally, the Corruptor, the echo of the Toximancy user, whose Miasma of Decay could rot their enemies from the inside out. He had one empty slot left. 'A space waiting for a new masterpiece.'
His eyes drifted to the man walking just behind him. Edgar.
'Yes, he had taken him on his team on purpose. And he had refused to swap him, no matter what. Because Edgar was the one who would give him the power he craved. He was going to be the sacrifice.'
The thought was as natural to him as breathing. Edgar was perfect for it. He was loyal, trusting, and completely unsuspecting.
For weeks, Dante had been feeding him, allowing him to absorb mana cores, strengthening him.
He had treated him like a loyal puppy, and Edgar had responded with unwavering devotion. He thought Dante was investing in him as a teammate.
'The fool. Dante was just fattening the calf for the slaughter.'
'All that mana, all that potential he had "given" him… he was simply going to take it back. With interest.'
The plan was already forming in his mind. He just needed to separate Talia from him. Her Kinetic Eye was too sharp; she would see the betrayal in his muscles before he even moved.
But that would be easy enough to arrange.
'As for Lana and Erica… they are dumb when it comes to him. Their jealousy and obsession make them blind.'
'He could use their rivalry, send them on a fool's errand, and they would trample over each other for the chance to please him.'
His path was clear. Today, they would hunt for artifacts.
And along the way, he would find the perfect, quiet moment to stab his loyal teammate in the back, absorb his soul, and see if the core of a fellow "hero" would be enough to finally break his limits and grant him a seventh summon.