NAME: UNKNOWN

BIRTH: UNKNOWN

HOMEWORLD: UNKNOWN

SECTOR: UNKNOWN

SPECIES: UNKNOWN

HEIGHT: 5’5

WEIGHT: 185(Unnaturally heavy)

STIGMATA: Short-Range Teleportation

TIDE: Cryo

DESIGNATION: Anomaly 888

MONIKER: Eight

DANGER: Orange-Red

COMMENTS: The boy is formidable and sly. The common Centurion may not guarantee victory. For now, Judge Vermillion will watch him. But should he go off the rails… Centurion Rasa shall have his head. He holds secrets that could change wars. Not that he knows.

* The official Designation of Eight, delivered to the Congress Of Praetors.

Dante felt the rift within his body, his connection to the rumbling Lightsea pulling taut. Surewinter had successfully cycled through him, the frost creeping into his bones, hardening the very interior of his flesh.

Moments passed, and the room’s temperature rose. Astraeus ceased the flow of his Tide, allowing the snow to melt around him, the warmth radiating from his growing agitation.

The Dirge raised a hand, pointing toward Dante, a flicker of confusion breaking through his incomprehensible face, “How did you complete the first cycle? It should have frozen you from the inside out after you refused my help...” the spots on his face halted, just for a moment, in his bewilderment.

Dante grinned, his gaze falling to his hands, feeling the faint pulse of power beneath his skin. He had always known how to move forward with this technique since its first second in his body. The first cycle was about forging a connection to the hidden element, a nearly impossible feat for those without a guide.

Even with help, though, it wasn’t easy. The frost embedded in the initial bond had the potential to kill most sentients.

For stronger beings—Centurions, Praetors, and those above—who could withstand Surewinter’s freezing bite, the benefit was minimal. They’d waste valuable time training in something that didn’t serve their greater strengths while possibly sabotaging their own affinities.

The second cycle, though, was far more demanding. It required the practitioner not only to draw in the frozen essence of the Lightsea but to return it, forming a continuous cycle—an act few could achieve.

Such proficiency could only be honed within the Lightsea itself, a realm perilous to most sentients. But soon, Dante would have Thanaris to guide him through its treacherous currents.

There, he could refine the technique further in a place where few dared to venture. Only the Dirge could join him in that dangerous mastery.

The third cycle remained beyond Dante’s grasp. It was something more profound, tied to the very nature of his Tide and the Lightsea’s currents. Despite his lack of complete understanding, being granted access to such a powerful technique left him with a rare sense of appreciation—even if the gesture from Astraeus had been more mocking than generous.

“Thanks, Astraeus. I’m tough enough for this, though Lucius could probably handle it too,” Dante dipped his head slightly, unafraid of the honesty in his words.

Astraeus jerked his head to the side, letting out a dismissive grunt before turning away, “Yeah, yeah. You’re welcome, or whatever you fleshies say.”

Dante’s grin stretched wider, his face fighting to contain the amusement threatening to burst. It was a rare delight to see the normally ordered Astraeus embarrassed. Such was the best thing that had happened in days.

Weeks, even.

Dante shook his head, pushing the thought aside as he refocused on Surewinter.

There was knowledge in his mind—details about the technique—that shouldn’t have been there.

It was...

Disconcerting. The way information had woven itself into his thoughts as if pulled directly from the Lightsea itself unnerved him to no end. The comfort with which a technique carried the knowledge of its creator disturbed him.

While he rubbed his chin, Dante realized he’d need to be more cautious going forward. He couldn’t afford to follow any random art or mantra blindly.

He’d gotten lucky this time. But that luck wouldn’t always hold.

He mentally reviewed the cycles, going over them in precise detail.

The first cycle, Entry, enhanced my body’s resistance to extreme cold while gradually fortifying its strength and endurance. The improvements were minimal at first, but with continued practice, they would compound.

However, the second cycle, Surety, elevates those enhancements to an extraordinary degree. With it, I could survive with frozen blood coursing through my veins and tear steel apart with my bare hands.

The third cycle, Wintry, is the limit of my current understanding. It brought Surewinter into direct alignment with the Lightsea, allowing its user to tap into the deeper, primal energies of the frost in the realm.

What that truly meant, the human had no clue. He’d have to ask Astraeus, eventually. In his heatless hands, he let the snow settle and searched for the Lightsea once more.

He enjoyed the sensation of progress. Achievements of the mind and body pushed him onward relentlessly.

I’ll sleep when I’m dead.

With closed eyelids, Dante allowed himself a moment of stillness. The surrounding room faded into silence, the cold settling deeper into his bones as his body temperature continued to drop.

Unbeknownst to him, outside his awareness, a towering woman with crimson hair cascading down her back whispered to her most loyal warrior, “Surewinter, you say? He continues to impress. Give him the rest. I want you both unstoppable when we enter the wormhole.”

“But Master… he’s human,” Astraeus’s usually fearless demeanor faltered, his dots quivering under the weight of Caesar’s gaze like a chastened child.

Thanaris wiped the blood from her lips, the sticky red tangling with her fingers as she giggled softly, “Now you care? You’ve already taught him, Simmer.”

Astraeus shivered and peeked down, already forming his apology, “I’m sorry, Ma—”

“It’s fine,” Thanaris interrupted, her tone light. “Treat him like one of our kin, or he’ll die in the Inferose.” Her words inched with humor, but her lack of smile never wavered.

Thanaris placed a hand on Astraeus’s shoulder, a gesture that was both comforting and possessive. As she leaned close, the woman lowered her porcelain neck to whisper in his ear, her voice soft yet commanding, “I know what he’s doing to you. Don’t fear my retaliation. I am your master, not your owner. Neither of us has any love for Him.”

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Her voice wavered slightly—an uncharacteristic hitch that Astraeus couldn’t help but notice, “Just... be careful. The Veiling Eyes will soon fall upon you now that you’ve learned Domain Collapse. Grow stronger, Simmer. We have little time left before you slip into their gaze.”

Astraeus watched his master limp away; her strength somehow diminished after speaking to him in such a vulnerable way. His hands clenched, the force behind them enough to split stone, and a low growl escaped his throat.

The sight of Thanaris in pain stirred something deep within him—something he couldn’t allow. His master’s suffering, especially on his behalf, was unacceptable.

Without hesitation, he looked down at his hands and pressed them together, returning to his training. His Domain Collapse had to be perfected. There was no time for weakness.

“Inverted Palace.“

The words rippled through the air, sending a wave of energy from the Lightsea. Astraeus’s Tide surged from his core, warping the enveloping dimension. Behind him, the Inverted Palace began to take form—a phantasmal castle, its spectral presence growing more defined, visible to anyone who might dare to look.

Its nature was unnatural, however, for it fit within the existing hallway without affecting the physical world.

As Astraeus triggered his Domain Collapse, reality itself seemed to ripple, sloshing like waves through the air, as if bending under the immense weight of his power. The words he had spoken reverberated through the space—not just as a sound, but as though the world itself had given voice to them.

They pierced through walls, floors, and ceilings, ripping through the atmosphere as shockwaves, even rupturing the sky above.

Somewhere nearby, a man amid his own practice jolted from his focus, dragged violently into the whirlwind of power Astraeus had unleashed.

Behind Astraeus, the Inverted Palace took form, emerging from the Lightsea with the Anathema’s indomitable spirit taking form. But it was more than that.

A Domain Collapse reflected the soul itself. Every being had a unique Domain, a manifestation of their inner world, even if their techniques, Tides, and Stigmas shared were identical.

No two beings could possess the same collapse.

The Inverted Palace reflected Astraeus’s peculiar nature, its towers twisting downward in jagged spirals, too low to see their peaks, disappearing into an endless void beneath the hallways’ floor. The walls seemed crafted from ethereal, translucent stone that flickered between solid and spectral, shifting like a mirage while the ‘bottom’ of the palace sat upon the ceiling.

Dante hauled himself from the room only to witness the ghostly mirage of grandeur and ruin. The windows, instead of reflecting the light in the man’s eye, swallowed it, each pane filled with an inky blackness that seemed to stretch into the Lightsea’s depths. Dante felt as though the very glass stole power from all who dared look.

And it did.

Astraeus’s Domain Collapse had grown far more potent since the last time he had fully invoked it. The collapse of the palace was not just a summoning of the Lightsea, but it was also a direct imposition of his will on the fabric of reality. His mastery over the Lightsea had deepened, and now his Domain didn’t merely exist. It distorted everything around it.

Dante nodded, for Astraeus had unearthed the ultimate step toward a Domain. Within the boundaries of the Inverted Palace, the Anathema’s overall strength magnified, as his Tide amplified, and the power of anyone caught inside would be slashed.

Snow crept through the palace’s corridors, swirling in silent spirals, as the grand, otherworldly structure gradually shrunk down until it settled as a more trim, shadowed figure behind Astraeus.

Dante, one hand still braced against the wall, couldn’t help but feel a fresh wave of awe at the sheer power before him.

In less than a month since reaching the rank of Anathema, Astraeus hadn’t just reached an incomplete domain—he had far surpassed it.

He had consolidated a Domain Collapse, then he went one more leap and realized its effects, finishing it. From this point on, only optimization could occur. It was now true, without any further modification to its abilities as it was stabilized.

Dante sought his own link to the Lightsea while within the Inverted Palace, and he wasn’t surprised to find it severed. There would be no external help here—not for anyone who dared face Astraeus in his home.

“You need a domain to break another’s, you know,” Astraeus said, pivoting to face Dante. His usual disdain for the word ‘human’ was absent, replaced with something resembling respect. “But knowing you, I imagine you’ve already thought of a workaround. Any suggestions for my improvement?”

Dante grinned at the recognition, something he couldn’t help with his own pride, finally tearing his gaze from the awe-inspiring feat. His mind raced, analyzing everything he knew about domains and Astraeus in particular.

He placed two fingers on his chin, considering for a moment before speaking, “You can only use it once a day, right? Even in its incomplete state?”

A nod answered him, but there was a secondary part to follow, “Yes, but I can hold an incomplete for a long time and transition it into a complete one. And vice-versa.”

Dante nodded along, his eyes scanning the altered surroundings. The colors around him subtly shifted by the Lightsea’s influence. He already had a plan forming—a way to neutralize Astraeus’s Domain.

The real question for Dante was whether to share his idea. He and Astraeus were still enemies, after all—temporary allies, sure, but that wouldn’t last. Once the leash was off, it was likely they’d be forced to face each other.

It might not even be their own wills that decided it. The Dirge could be ordered to kill him, and Dante knew neither of them would go down without a fight.

Is it worth it?

Dante weighed the risk.

Yeah. This will help us fight the other Anathemas, even if Astraeus gets too familiar with the strategy. It’s not the best, either. I’m sure I can come up with better when I know more.

While extending two fingers from his palm, Dante set his mind. Surviving now was more important than holding out for later, “I’ve got two ideas. First, we could create a bomb—one that won’t work once the IC is established. We bait them into using it. If the target’s inexperienced with tech, we could use one detonation regardless for some extra hurt. Once they raise the IC, we buy time until they’re forced to drop it from exhaustion.”

Astraeus nodded, considering the logic. It made sense. Even an Anathema could only maintain an incomplete Collapse for a day or so before fatigue set in. The strongest among them could barely push beyond two days.

But Dante wasn’t finished. He lowered one finger and raised the other, “The second idea hinges on the element of surprise. We disable one of their limbs. The likelihood of an Anathema activating a Domain Collapse with just one hand is zero, as you and Thanaris have pointed out. One of us focuses on that while the other goes in for the kill. That way, we can reserve your Domain Collapse for more dangerous opponents.”

Astraeus nodded once more, the logic falling into place. He could contest an opponent’s Domain on his own, but doing so would drain his energy. With Dante unable to summon one, it was critical for them to conserve their ace for as long as possible.

Still, a concern lingered in the Dirge’s mind, “These bombs… can you actually make them? What about the one you used on me before? It hurt.”

The human blinked, surprised by the admission, “Did it now?” Dante said, a grin pulling at his lips, and then he waved Astraeus to follow. “I’ll show you. The electronics on this planet are probably fried, but I can scavenge enough materials to make a few mechanical bombs. Those are a bit harder to build… but come on. I need to get out of this damned place.”

Dante strode away, his steps heavy from the pressure of Astraeus’s Domain still lingering in the air. When the Dirge retracted his Tide, pulling the power back into himself, Dante’s pace quickened, relieved of the oppressive weight.

In moments, his boots splashed through shallow pools of red-stained water, the recent rainfall tainted by the bloodshed Thanaris had left in her wake. Dante’s eyes froze at the sight—visible, undeniable death. It reminded him of the monsters he was forced to work and live alongside.

His stomach twisted, and rage flickered in his chest, crawling upward as he looked at the water, the faint metallic scent in the air overwhelming his senses. For a moment, he thought he might do something reckless, which is what Nullify had stopped him from doing.

But then, unexpectedly, Astraeus’s voice broke through the tension.

“Sorry. I... I... I don’t know. Sorry,” Astraeus’s face shifted away, his usual confident demeanor faltering, unable to meet Dante’s gaze.

It was a small thing, but at that moment, it meant everything. These beings—these monsters—could still feel.

Everything about this was confusing. Dante wanted to hate them—should hate them. He knew, deep down, that some part of this was probably Stockholm syndrome. And yet, if his own life had started differently, would he be any better?

These two had killed millions. Millions more would follow. But if Dante had that kind of power, could he honestly say he wouldn’t do the same? Wouldn’t do worse to protect his life or secure his freedom?

In their shoes… I wouldn’t even say sorry.

As he splashed through the bloodstained flood, he tossed two words over his shoulder, more out of impulse than reflection.

“Thank you.”

With the rain having ceased, the two made their way through the light flood in relative silence, heading toward a nearby supply store. Inside, Astraeus’s eyes widened at the sheer variety of items and utensils stacked on the shelves.

Curiosity overtook him. As they wandered the aisles, Astraeus quietly swiped things off the shelves. It started with a tool here or a gadget there, asking Dante about each one. Despite their odd partnership, Dante answered every question patiently, even as he gathered the materials he needed.

Given the condition of the planet they were on, Dante knew he’d have to rely on the ignorance of any Dirge they faced, especially in the nuances of how domains interacted with technology. Domains did not affect mechanical devices, so draining their energy would be pointless for the bombs he envisioned.

Dante’s plan allowed for three bombs—no more. Any more would be too difficult to carry, hide, or manage without risking them being stolen. Three was the perfect balance.

Through his insights, his feet soaked in the water, the cold seeping into his bones. In the past, he might have shivered, but not anymore. He set up a table and began crafting the bombs, his hands moving with precise, deliberate efficiency.

Astraeus hovered nearby, peering over Dante’s shoulder. He picked up a chainsaw from one shelf, scrutinizing it, “Is this a sword?”

Dante chuckled, shaking his head, “Not quite. It’s effective for cutting, but it relies on electronic components. Maybe I could get Archimedes to make you one that doesn’t need electricity—possibly powered by motes from the Lightsea.”

Astraeus’s eyes glued themselves to the chainsaw, his fascination unmistakable. It reminded Dante of the way Rejo would look whenever he got his hands on a new gun.

It was… a strange love.

Dante shrugged and held out his hand for the chainsaw. Astraeus handed it over without hesitation, and Dante, curiosity sparking, called upon his Tide. Water flowed from his hands, surging into the tool’s mechanisms. The liquid coursed through its inner workings, gathering momentum.

At first, the result was underwhelming—barely enough force to turn the blade, let alone cut anything. But as the seconds ticked by, the water adapted, gaining speed and precision. The chainsaw’s teeth spun faster and faster, propelled by the increasing force of the water.

Water was adaptable. It filled every shape and fit every need.

It was a tool for every situation.

Gradually, the chainsaw’s rotation became powerful enough to send droplets splashing outward, the sheer force of the water cracking wood nearby. That was just the water alone. When Dante lowered the chainsaw to the store’s counter, it effortlessly sliced through steel, clean as a blade.

Dante and Astraeus locked eyes at the precise moment.

“I need a better one,” Dante muttered.

“I need one,” Astraeus replied with equal fascination.

Laughter cascaded out from both of them, the noise of the rotating chainsaw slowly fading into silence.

Neither of them spoke for a moment, but both were already thinking ahead. Dante could envision Astraeus fitting into his crew despite the complexities of their past. Meanwhile, Astraeus, for reasons even he struggled to explain, wanted Dante to stay. He didn’t want the human to leave.

After a few moments of silence, Dante handed the chainsaw back to the Dirge, “You’ve already mastered Frigo. It wouldn’t be too hard for you to practice with water if you’re serious. We’ll check in with Archimedes when we’re ready.”

Astraeus took the chainsaw, his eyes still wide with wonder. It was the most extraordinary thing he had ever seen. For the first time in his life, he found himself wishing he had been born a Hydro.

Then, while the Dirge was enjoying himself, Dante asked him, “So, were there any pianos inside our place?” his voice staggered for a moment. “I need to… relax for a bit.”

“The instrument, right? You play music?” Astraeus asked, surprising Dante with his knowledge of the world. In some parts, he was grotesquely ignorant, and in others, he possessed deep insight.

Dante nodded, however, wishing he could play. He hadn’t touched a key in a long… long time. To his joy, Astraeus bobbed his head, “Hmm. I think I remember one in the big guy’s office.”

With the news, Dante strode past the Anathema, already heading back toward their current residence. Astraeus hurried after him, splashing through the street behind them. Just ten minutes later, they both stood inside the Baron’s office.

The piano lay in ruins before the human. His mask broke for a second into pure rage and his hands trembled, tightening into fists. Then, he turned to Astraeus. He didn’t have to say a word. His face told all.

He would devote that building frustration into training.