The great, genuine smile on Dante's face was like a predator's, a mask of warmth hiding the cold, clicking gears of his mind. The opportunity was perfect. More than perfect. It was a gift from the labyrinth itself.
Edgar, his loyal, wounded lamb, was looking at him with a pure, complete admiration that was almost sickening. He saw a victorious leader. Dante saw a ripe fruit, ready for the harvest.
"Dante," Edgar breathed, his voice full of awe as he took a step closer. "You… you finished already? You were incredible."
"It was a difficult fight," Dante lied, his voice a carefully crafted tone of weary humbleness. He took a step toward him, closing the small distance between them.
The other cages still shimmered, holding the frantic, silent battles of his other teammates. They were alone. "My copy knew every move I would make. I only won because of an unexpected advantage."
"The ring," Edgar said, his eyes flicking down to Dante's hand. "Of course. Your strategy is always flawless."
"Strategy requires sacrifice, Edgar," Dante said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. Edgar beamed under the contact, a loyal soldier receiving praise from his king. "You fought bravely. You defeated your own demon."
"I only won because I thought of you," he confessed, his face honest and open. "The whispers… they tried to make me doubt you. But I knew you would never betray us. My faith in you gave me the strength to fight back."
Dante's smile tightened. 'The irony is so thick I can taste it.' "I am glad to hear that, Edgar. Your faith is… important to me."
He looked past him, toward the shimmering cage where Erica was still battling her fiery twin. "They are still struggling. Go, stand by the edge of Talia's cage."
"Let me know the moment she is free. Her scouting skills will be essential to navigating our way out of here."
"Of course, Dante," Edgar said without a single bit of hesitation. He turned his back to Dante, his gaze fixed on the distant, flashing cages.
He was completely open, completely trusting. He was presenting his life to Dante on a silver platter.
His heart was a steady, calm drumbeat. There was no hate in his actions, no anger. 'This is not murder. It is a necessary move to strengthen the pack.'
He drew upon the dark mana within him, not enough to be obvious, but just enough to form a thin, silent, razor-sharp blade of shadow in his hand. It was invisible in the dim, crystal light.
"Edgar," Dante said, his voice a soft whisper.
He started to turn. "Yes, Dan—"
He never finished the name.
Shnk.
The shadow blade slid between his ribs with a silent, perfect precision. It pierced his heart, ending his life before his brain could even register the betrayal.
His eyes went wide for a fraction of a second, a look of deep, confused shock on his face. He opened his mouth, but only a soft, wet sigh escaped.
Dante held him for a moment as the life drained from him, supporting his weight so he wouldn't fall and make a sound. His body went limp in Dante's arms.
Gently, he laid him on the crystal floor, arranging his body near the shattered remains of his own copy.
He pressed the Guardian's Vambrace Edgar wore against the sharp edge of a crystal shard, creating a deep, believable gash in the leather. He used another shard to deepen the wound in his forehead.
The scene was perfect: a brave warrior who had defeated his enemy, only to die from his wounds moments later.
Then, he knelt beside him and placed his hand on his chest. He closed his eyes and pulled. His spirit, his mana core fattened and cared for by Dante's design was a brilliant, shining thing.
It was full of loyalty, trust, and a simple, heroic light. It offered no resistance. It flowed into him with a silent, sad sigh.
The rush of power was huge. It was not the raw, chaotic fury of the orc or the prideful rage of Derek. It was a pure, clean energy that settled into his soul like a missing piece of a puzzle.
He felt the ceiling of his power crack. The limit of six summons… it felt fragile now, ready to be broken.
But he did not summon him. Not yet. His soul was a precious, heavy weight inside him. To call him forth now would be a massive, immediate drain. He had other plans for his first appearance.
Chime.
With a final, soft sound, Erica's cage dissolved. She stumbled out, her clothes singed, her face streaked with soot and tears. She had won.
She looked around, her eyes searching wildly for Dante.
"Dante!" she cried, relief flooding her face when she saw him. She started to run toward him, but then she saw the body on the floor. She stopped dead, her hand flying to her mouth. "Edgar?"
At that moment, the other cages dissolved. Talia and Jin were free. They saw the scene, and a horrified, sad silence fell over the room.
Erica was the first to reach him. She fell to her knees, her hands hovering over his still form, not knowing what to do. "No… no, he was… he was just here."
Tears welled in her eyes. The others gathered around, their faces masks of shock and sorrow. This was different from Neil and Juno's deaths.
They had died in the heat of battle, killed by a clear enemy. This felt… crueler. To survive his own personal hell only to die alone moments later.
Dante let them have their moment of sadness. Then, he began his performance.
A low, rough roar of pure, fake rage tore from his throat. He slammed his fist into a crystal tree, the impact echoing through the silent room. "Damn it!" he screamed, his voice cracking with fake pain. "DAMN IT ALL!"
They all flinched, turning to stare at him. He had his back to them, his shoulders shaking with fake sobs.
"He was already dead when I broke free," he choked out, turning to face them, his eyes blazing with a righteous, fake fury. "His copy must have landed a fatal blow in its final moments."
"He was so close… He won, and he still… he still died."
He stalked over to the body, kneeling beside Erica. He placed a hand on Edgar's cold shoulder. "He was a good man," he said, his voice thick with fake grief. "A loyal friend. He believed in us. He believed in me."
He looked up, his gaze sweeping over their sad, broken faces. "I will not let this stand," he vowed, his voice ringing with a terrible, solemn promise. "I will not let this world take another one of us. Not like this."
He stood up, his fists clenched. "Derek told me the Goddess grants a wish to the first to finish the trial. I swear to all of you, I will be the first."
"And I will use that wish to bring him back. I will bring Edgar back to us. No matter the cost."
A wave of shock, then hope, washed over them. Erica looked up at him, her tears forgotten, her eyes shining with a new, fierce light.
His promise was a comfort to their grief, a purpose to their pain.
"But…" he paused, his face a mask of troubled thought. "To bring him back, the Goddess will need a trace of him. His soul. It will disappear soon, lost forever."
He looked down at the body, then back at them. "There is only one way to save it. I have to make him my summon. I have to bind his soul to me until I can set it free."
They nodded, their faces full of grim understanding. It was a dark act, yes, but a necessary one. A noble one.
He knelt, placing his hands over Edgar's chest. He closed his eyes and began to "struggle." He let out a pained grunt. "I can't," he gasped, clutching his head.
"My limit… I already have six summons. His soul… it's too pure, too strong. I can't hold it. There's no more room!"
He looked up at them, his face a picture of desperation. "The pendant," he said, his eyes locking onto the glowing artifact hanging from the amethyst tree. "The Manacore Pendant."
"It doubles the user's mana. Perhaps… perhaps if my own pool is larger, I can break my limit, just for a moment. Just long enough to anchor his soul."
No one argued. No one questioned. In their eyes, he was not claiming the most powerful artifact for himself. He was taking up a heavy burden, a necessary tool to save the soul of their fallen friend.
Talia, her own grief pushed aside by a sense of duty, got the pendant and handed it to him. He clasped it around his neck.
A surge of immense power flooded his body, his mana pool doubling in a dizzying instant. The new, higher ceiling of his power felt solid.
"Now," he said, his voice firm. He knelt again, placed his hands on Edgar, and this time, he let the summoning happen.
A shadow, darker and purer than any before, rose from the body. It was a perfect, silent silhouette, its form giving off a feeling of quiet, complete loyalty. His seventh summon. Edgar.
He stood up, swaying slightly for effect. "It is done," he breathed. "His soul is safe with me."
He looked at his team, at their grateful, trusting faces. His plan was complete. He had his new puppet, he had the pendant, and he had their undying loyalty, forged in the fire of their own grief and his lies.
It was in that moment of quiet triumph, as he looked past the faces of his team, that he saw her.
Lana.
She was no longer in the corner where she had been resting. She was standing silently behind the great amethyst tree, partly hidden by its trunk.
He hadn't seen her move. He didn't know how long she had been there. Her face was unreadable, her wild, amethyst eyes giving away nothing.
But she was watching him. And for the first time since entering this labyrinth, he felt a real, chilling flicker of doubt.