The Tower of Limbo – Mid-Level Ascent
The bridge shuddered beneath their boots.
Every step sent ripples of light through the stone, like blood pumping through veins. The air thickened — hotter, heavier — as if the Tower itself were breathing down their necks.
Elsa steadied herself, one hand on the railing, eyes scanning the dark spires above. "It's changing again," she muttered.
Dante cocked his head, squinting up at the shifting architecture. The walls were folding in on themselves, reshaping, pulling tighter. The pulsing veins glowed brighter the closer he got.
"Feels like it's… watching us," he said.
"It's reacting," Elsa replied. "To you."
Dante shot her a grin. "Maybe it's my winning personality."
Before she could retort, the bridge jerked violently. A guttural roar rolled through the chamber — not from a creature, but from the Tower itself. The veins along the walls blazed, flaring crimson, and then came the voices.
They weren't human. They weren't even singular.
Thousands of overlapping whispers pressed against their skulls — chanting, murmuring, mocking.
…Sparda's blood… defiled by man…
…The hunter's daughter… bound by her father's sin…
…You cannot run from your father's shadow…
Elsa froze mid-step.
The words slithered through the air, wrapping around her like chains. Her grip on her pistol faltered. The voice wasn't just mocking — it was familiar. It sounded like her father.
Dante glanced at her. "Elsa?"
She didn't answer at first. Her jaw tightened, her eyes cold. "It's nothing."
"Sounded like something," he said, frowning.
She looked away. "Drop it."
The Tower laughed — a low, rolling sound that came from everywhere at once. The walls pulsed brighter, and cracks of molten light split across the floor.
Dante stepped forward, Rebellion gleaming in his hand. "Yeah, not creepy at all."
The ground buckled. Veins of light surged toward him, reaching across the bridge like living tendrils. He slashed one away, and the blade hissed where it cut, spraying molten sparks. The Tower screamed in response — not pain, but recognition.
"Great," Dante muttered. "Now it's definitely watching me."
Elsa steadied her aim, firing a burst into the nearest wall. The bullets hit the flesh-like surface and sizzled out, absorbed as if the Tower drank them.
"Whatever this thing is, it's alive," she said sharply. "And it's feeding on us."
Another pulse shook the bridge, nearly knocking them both over. This time, the voice came clear — deep, singular, cruel.
…Come closer, child of Sparda. The Tower remembers its maker…
Dante frowned. "This again? Why do they keep calling my name?"
Elsa's blood ran cold. Child of Sparda?
She turned sharply toward him. "What did it just call you?"
He blinked. "What?"
"What's your full name, Dante?" she pressed, stepping closer despite the bridge trembling beneath them.
Dante gave her a confused look. "Uh… sure. Name's Dante Sparda. Nice to meet you?"
Elsa's pulse spiked. Sparda.
The name was carved into the oldest hunter archives, whispered in every temple, etched into the foundations of her father's research — the legend of the demon who betrayed his own kind and sealed the gates of Hell.
She remembered Matteo's warning, the secret he kept close — one he'd never told her but always seemed to carry on his conscience.
Her throat tightened. "Dante," she asked carefully, "do you know anything about your name? About… Sparda?"
Dante frowned, clearly lost. "Not much. Just what my mom used to tell me when I was a kid. Stuff about him kicking demon butt and saving the world."
He smirked faintly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Most of it sounds bonkers to me. I mean, how would a normal demon hunter seal the gates of Hell?"
Elsa stared at him, saying nothing. The Tower pulsed again, its heartbeat echoing between them.
She turned away before he could see the realization in her eyes.
"Let's keep moving," she said quietly.
Dante nodded, following as the bridge began to extend upward, the crimson veins glowing brighter beneath their feet.
Behind them, the Tower whispered once more — softer this time, almost amused.
…Ignorance is mercy, child of Sparda… but mercy never lasts…
The bridge screamed beneath them again.
A jagged crack split down the center, light bleeding from the stone. Dante barely had time to shove Elsa out of the way before the ground gave out under his boots.
The force of the push sent her tumbling clear of the collapsing span.
"Dante!" she shouted, scrambling toward the crumbling edge.
Through the smoke and falling debris, she caught one last glimpse of him — grinning, giving her a mock salute.
"I'll meet you up top!" he called, before the fire below swallowed him whole.
The Tower's laughter followed him down.
The Tower of Limbo – Infernal Depths
The roar of the Tower chased him all the way down.
Dante fell through a storm of heat and cinders, the world twisting into red light. Wind ripped at his coat, ash burned his skin, but he only laughed — half thrill, half defiance.
"Well," he muttered between grit teeth, "guess I'm taking the express route."
The ground hit back — hard.
He crashed through a layer of brittle stone and rolled across molten glass, sparks flaring around him. The air was so hot it hurt to breathe. Every movement sent steam rising from his coat.
He coughed, dragging himself up. "Hell's got lousy hospitality."
The chamber he'd landed in was enormous — a cathedral built of magma and bone. Pillars of molten rock spiraled upward into the dark, and rivers of fire flowed along the walls like veins. Everything pulsed to the same rhythm — a heartbeat that wasn't his.
He glanced up. The hole he'd fallen through was already sealing, the Tower swallowing the light above.
"Figures," he said, brushing soot from his shoulders. "Can't ever take the stairs."
Then came the sound — a deep, grinding groan that shook the entire cavern. Lava surged upward from the floor, forming a massive door of fire bound by chains. The heat radiating from it was unbearable.
Dante shielded his eyes. "Great. Door made of lava. Real subtle, this place."
The flames stirred. A voice rumbled from behind them — ancient, layered, like the Tower itself was speaking through a furnace.
"The son of Sparda descends… at last."
Dante froze. "Okay, I'm really getting tired of everyone knowing my last name."
"You walk his path. You carry his fire. Prove you are worthy to wield it."
The fiery gate exploded open.
From the inferno stepped a demon forged of living magma — its body plated in molten armor, every breath releasing a gout of flame. Chains trailed from its wrists, glowing like branding irons.
Its voice shook the air.
"I am Ifrit — the flame of rebellion. Your father sealed me here to sleep. Now, prove his blood still burns."
Dante raised Rebellion, flames reflecting in his eyes. "Guess I don't get to just knock, huh?"
The ground erupted as Ifrit charged.
Dante met him head-on, Rebellion clashing against molten fists. Sparks and fire exploded on impact. The heat was unbearable — every swing felt heavier, every step slower.
He darted around the massive creature, firing Ebony and Ivory into its chest. The bullets vaporized on contact.
"Of course," he muttered, ducking a flaming punch. "Because bullets never work on fire demons."
Ifrit slammed a fist down, shattering the floor. Dante jumped back, boots skidding on melted rock. His coat caught fire at the edges, but he didn't stop.
"You are not Sparda," the demon roared. "You are unworthy."
Dante gritted his teeth, charging forward again. "Yeah, I've been hearing that all day."
He leapt, slashing Rebellion across Ifrit's chest — molten blood splashed out, hissing as it hit the floor. The demon didn't flinch; instead, it caught his blade mid-swing.
The metal screamed under the heat. Ifrit hurled him aside like a rag doll.
Dante slammed into the wall, the breath knocked from his lungs. He staggered, Rebellion slipping from his hand. His arms trembled, skin blistered from the heat.
"Cute trick," he rasped. "Guess we're playing rough now."
The demon's eyes blazed brighter.
"Submit or burn."
Flames gathered in its palms — a wave of fire surged toward him.
Dante braced himself, teeth clenched. "Not happening."
He raised his arms to block — and the world changed.
The fire didn't consume him. It wrapped around him. His veins lit up, glowing red beneath his skin. The Tower's heartbeat synced with his own. The pain vanished — replaced by power.
When the flames cleared, his arms were no longer bare.
They were encased in molten gauntlets, runes glowing like embers.
Dante stared at them in disbelief. "Okay… that's new."
Ifrit stepped back, eyes narrowing.
"The fire accepts you."
Dante flexed his fingers, smirking. "Guess it likes me better than you."
He launched forward, fists blazing. The first punch shattered the demon's guard; the second cracked its chest open, molten light spilling out.
He didn't stop. Blow after blow landed, each one heavier, faster, burning brighter. The air roared with every hit.
Finally, he jumped, twisting midair, and brought both fists down in a flaming arc. The impact sent a shockwave through the chamber, splitting the molten floor.
Ifrit roared, flames bursting from its body — then fell still, its form crumbling into ash.
The remaining fire gathered around Dante, condensing into light before seeping into the gauntlets. The voice that followed was softer now, almost reverent.
"Sparda's blood still burns. Carry the fire, son of rebellion."
The flames faded. Silence returned.
Dante stood amid the smoke, the new gauntlets glowing faintly at his sides. He clenched a fist, heat rippling from the motion.
A slow grin spread across his face. "Not bad," he said. "Guess I'm getting fired up."