Across the galaxy, nestled within the center region of the Heart, an old man’s head lifted from slumber. Eyes sharpened, and bones crackled. An automated, unthinking system rang out as pure oxygen filtered into the lightless enclosure.

“Welcome awake, Sir. It has been twenty-five years since you last awakened fully. May you log the reason for Congress’ knowledge?”

A low, resounding voice echoed into the darkness, his violet pupils illuminating what was once a colorless dungeon, “No.”

* An unrecorded conversation.

Dante’s entire body shivered, a mind-numbing chill coursing through his flesh at the speed of lightning. The lightning then shocked him awake as a shadow detached from him, stepping straight out of his skin. It was like a fish emerging from a lightless lake, bulging out the waves before emerging into the open air.

The figure stretched out his muscles, possessing a height identical to Dante. It bore a face identical to him, too. And the same build. The same is true for everything they harbored.

That is until he turned to face Dante. The human saw not blue eyes but abyssal eyes that proclaimed they lorded over all. Dante’s mind quivered in submissive misery from merely gazing into the being. He lowered his gaze just as he realized his leg had returned to him.

Gurgling gasps of choked blood came from Saerer, only feet away, while Eight’s eyes widened even further. Dante’s attention, however, remained frozen onto only this figure.

Judas. Though, was that even his name?

Dante didn’t think so, nor did he believe the being to be like Astraeus. At least not in motive or power. Or age.

Judas leaned back, his muscles, tendons, and bones twisting with countless pops as he stretched. The human staring at him retreated, taking a step away from the rift without meaning to.

The moment Dante realized his folly, the shadow spoke, “Ah, ah, ah. This one is mine. As... gratitude for being a wonderful courier and smuggler... I’ll let you live.”

Dante sputtered, not sure how to respond. He managed to find his grit a second later as he listened to Saerer near her last gasp, and he demanded, “Who are you? What will you do inside there?”

‘Judas’ sighed with falling shoulders. His abyssal eyes shifted to meet Dante’s azure with a warning, “You ask for much. Alas, I am in a good mood and will tell you. You kept me hidden from them. Now, I will enter there, and I will claim the dimension. What else is worthy of me other than a dimension for my next body to be born of?”

The human’s teeth gnashed against each other. He knew what ‘claim’ meant. Judas would enter that realm and kill everyone inside to make sure only he could have it. In there, could anyone stop him?

Dante didn’t know. He didn’t know what or who Judas was. Even those he was hiding from remained out of Dante’s grasp.

All he knew was that his crew was inside, waiting for him to join them.

“Will you let my crew live? As part of that gratitude?” Dante asked softly, already knowing the answer.

A shake of the head was his reply. Then, the fake followed, “No. That Lucius fellow holds too much affinity with the Inferose. Walk away before I change my mind. That’s a greater kindness than your brother received.”

Dante’s pupils dilated, and his eyes enlarged as the shadow mentioned his younger brother. Instantly, the human moved, dashing forward toward Judas. He clenched his hand, tightening it to the extreme as he called for his Tide, but nothing answered.

Surprise held his heart, but he didn’t linger, assuming the effect to be from fatigue. Instead, he scrambled to the shotgun on the floor and aimed it straight at Judas.

The lightless eyes didn’t react in the slightest. They simply stared at Dante with indifference. Upon seeing such apathy, Dante squeezed the trigger, and the incredible power of the weapon flew out.

Less than a split-second later, Judas’ head flew off of his body, splattered by a crimson, bloodied mist. The body below wobbled, yet Dante gaped at the corpse incredulously.

He’s dead? Just like that? No... no way... He can’t be dead.

As if to prove Dante’s wit true, time Reset before his very eyes, bringing Judas back to life. It looked exactly the same as Dante’s Stigmata. The human’s mind rushed with thoughts, but they were all halted by the shadow.

He shattered all of Dante’s hopes, “Hmm... It’s been a while since I used my Stigmata. Oh. I told you it was mine. And that I’d get it back. Unfortunately for you... I joined you when you didn’t have any power. That means I got nothing. What a shame. I’m sure your true Stigmata is... anomalous anyhow,” Judas puffed his lips slightly as if thinking despondently.

Then he nodded, finding his groove again. While turning around, the copy of Dante with those pitch-black sclera and irises waved goodbye. However, before the man could enter the rift, Dante shouted one last question, “Why me? Why... any of this? What about my brother? How do you know him!?”

A stark laugh resounded as flesh began to distort and warble, utterly unlike all the other beings who entered the Inferose. It was... almost like the dimension struggled to hold Judas’ weight. Once more, it proved to Dante his power.

But more than anything, his words carved themselves into Dante’s heart.

“Wrong place. Wrong time. A Leviathan owed me a favor. As for you and not the other two... I have a fondness for humans. That is all.”

An instant later, Judas was gone, and that was not all. The shimmering rift, revealing the scene of a supermassive rose made of some unknown corpse, vanished with him. The loss of the Inferose left Dante, Eight, and Saerer alone on the field.

And without the dimension’s warping effect, the dozen Anathemas still rushing this way noticed the three.

Dante eyed them with glossy intent. He was struggling to comprehend all that had happened. Still, through the bewilderment, Saerer’s gurgled labor against death entered his ears.

He turned to face her, stumbling beside her. After sinking to his knees, Dante seized the Anathema’s mangled hand. He felt its warmth, the heat that Thermo had delivered.

He felt it withering.

Air entered his lungs and then exited. He spoke tenderly to the dying woman, “Saerer... Why did you do that? It doesn’t make any sense. We hardly know each other. And... I left you. Why?”

The Dirge sputtered through the hole in her chest, talking despite the damage, “I... did... it... for... Master...” Saerer made the noises almost as if she were articulating through her throat, utterly skipping her mouth. She paused slightly, fighting to say a few more words, “Protect her... human...”

Then her chest stopped rising, and the heat from her hands vanished. Dante bit his lip as he observed the decaying Dirge. Within seconds, her body withered away into steam, echoing her Tide.

He cursed aloud, slamming his fist into the dirt, “Fuck!” Dante stood immediately afterward, his rage spiraling out of control. Too much had been thrown at him. Dante couldn’t prepare for it all or handle a portion of it. He only had plans for Hana! How was he supposed to expect so many monsters to appear!?

Astraeus was a terrifying Anathema, and so was Hana. What were the chances for three more Dirge with their qualifications appearing? And more so...

Judas had done nothing for months. Not a damned thing since Dante had him in his mind. At a certain point, the human believed the man was a figment of his imagination.

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It seemed fate wished to spite him, for today proved his thoughts wrong.

After kicking the dirt while the surrounding Anathema watched from afar, careful not to approach, Dante crouched beside another dying person. He didn’t say any words to Eight, for they wouldn’t be kind if he did.

He merely observed the young man, noting the perfect mixture of steel and flesh. Dante’s augments weren’t even close to such artistry. Whoever did this was decades, if not centuries, ahead of the rest of the galaxy in research that had been primarily abandoned.

It wasn’t just the strength and complexity that made the body so impressive. It was its resilience. The Lightsea...

Eight, a creature of flesh and steel, could resist its currents. Such a thing should be impossible.

“I fucking hate you. You know that?” Dante whispered honestly to the Anomaly below him. He loathed everything about the little bastard, from his attitude to his raw strength. Even with death staring him down, the kid lied again and again, refusing to say a single damn truthful word about himself or his motives.

The arrogant Cryo wobbled his eyes crazily as if trying to tell Dante something. Again, the human didn’t seem to care. It was as if a piece had shattered inside his mind.

He patted Eight on his broken throat, speaking with malice, “I know. The vultures are coming. I can’t stop them. Too weak. You though... I know your secret. Give me one second to make some collateral.”

Despite the approaching Dirge, Dante retrieved a scrap of paper from his pocket. With it, he wrote using the pooling blood. He swiftly scribbled that Eight was a Breathing-Metal and that he shouldn’t exist, articulating how to prove it and what it might mean.

Then, with the Dirge only seconds away, he reached forward to Eight’s skull. He offered a deal as he reattached Eight’s head onto his shoulders appropriately, “You will help me kill Judas and, of course, survive this. In exchange... I will keep your secret.”

A second later, innards seemed to click within Eight’s body as a huff of air entered his lungs, the muscles concaving again. The young man retched, coughing as he sat up in affliction. He nearly fell to the ground while Dante mocked him by patting his back.

After slapping the human’s paws away, Eight choked out a single word, “Fine,” he could hardly talk through the blood and scrambled throat. Still, he was not an Anomaly for nothing. “Dick.”

Dante ignored the young man’s insult and hauled him to his feet. There, both stood in the center of a collapsing army. Now, the threat possessed only twelve or so bodies, but neither were in any position to fight.

Their state only worsened after Eight delivered a final blow to Dante’s mental state with an admission, “You... know... I don’t sense... the Lightsea from you.”

The human closed his eyes while Eight conjured blades of ice, crouching despite his broken neck. It would appear as long as his head wasn’t destroyed, the boy may be immortal. Of course, damage still accumulated, but the skull simply had to be reattached, and all was fine.

At least, that was what Eight made it look like to the incoming Dirge. In reality, he was experiencing untold agony, forcibly keeping himself standing through a technique that froze his joints. Typically, it was used for defense, but he had to use it just for his posture.

While Dante sensed his condition, Eight shouted to the mass encroaching upon the duo, “Hey, chuckleshits! The Inferose is gone! Fuck off! Go help your Caesars or something!”

In return, the frontmost Dirge, a lanky man with glacial antlers on his head, asked, “Then give us the gun.”

Eight’s eyes shifted to Dante just as the human released a lengthy sigh. Eight spoke the truth. He could no longer pull from the Lightsea. He could still sense it, perhaps because he once had access, but it denied him. His Stigmata Reset... or Judas’ Stigmata refused to activate. The uncomfortable ability treated him as if it had never existed.

And to top it all off... Surewinter was almost frozen solid. The separate yet minor connection to the Lightsea he possessed declined to respond any more than the most minute shiver. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to use Surewinter at all.

Tears welled up in Dante’s eyes for the first time in many years. They were more than droplets of sorrow or pain, however. They were at a loss of hope. After years and years of suffering, of solitude, of isolation, of never truly being a living person, he had grasped a slim tendril of hope.

He held power, and while it was fractional, it had limitless potential. All that was left was for him to put in the work.

Such a guarantee meant everything to Dante in a world where, most often, the powerful seemed to do nothing at all to acquire it.

That notion from Claudius returned to his mind.

“Do you wish to die?”

Dante answered honestly, only his proclamation entered the air without a hint of fear, “You can take the shotgun over my body. I’m not opposed to dying today. Are you?”

The Dirge stopped, sensing Dante’s resolve. They could feel the lack of power within him, but that only made them more suspicious. The sensation was utterly unlike someone simply exhausted. After all, he fought Hana not that long ago. How could such a man not hold any power?

Johanu, the foremost Anathema, squinted his eyes. Displaying so little energy from his body could only mean one thing at this moment. Dante still held power and enough of it that he could waste a large portion of it, hiding his strength with some technique.

As such, the Dirge retreated slowly. The reputation of Hana was too profound. The previous match between Dante and her lingered in their minds, even if the human received help.

He was the one standing here now, after all. The Gunwale had run. From him.

The scouring eyes also found Eight to be a threat in of himself. With the reward for fighting both only being an unknown shotgun, the Anathemas simultaneously fell back.

With his eyes reflecting the receding back, Dante released a sigh, not of relief but of disappointment before strapping the weapon to his back. It only contained a few shells, meaning he’d have to be careful with its usage, adding to his displeasure. Eight glimpsed the depression with a scoff, “You truly are suicidal. Hitching a ride with Dirge and then this? Fuck. I thought Rejo was stupid to be caught by Astraeus. Hmm... How did that bastard even get inside you guys? I’ve never heard of anything like that. Weird though he didn’t kill you. Must be a reason.”

Dante shook his head, dropping straight to the ground, “Something to do with Thanaris’ master. Don’t know any more than that. He must have been the Leviathan that gave Judas the favor. No clue why he left me alive, though.”

Eight nodded, plopping down right beside the human. There, the two shared a look, and Dante glared right at his reflection in Eight’s eyes. The older man groaned out, “Really? Just leave me the fuck alone.”

Those few words brought out an icy hate from Eight’s being. He looked Dante up and down before pointing a threatening finger right at him, “No. You don’t get to do that.”

“Do what?” Dante laughed.

Eight narrowed his eyes and plowed his frozen finger straight into Dante’s chest as the man fell without a contest, “That. You can’t just give up. Get the fuck up. What happened to your drive? Your ambition? You...”

Dante simply shrugged in response, “What can I do? There goes my Qualae. My Tide. I don’t know how, but it’s all gone. I can’t fight back. I can’t... do anything. I’ll just die like an ant between elephants.”

The Anomaly stood from the bloodied dirt. Then, he put his hands on his hips while the steel cables in his neck gradually reknitted themselves. It was a peculiar sight, but not one that Eight could even feel as the metal recovered faster than his flesh.

Instead, he focused on the man who forced him into a deal. Not even Claudius had done such a thing. Eight forced Claudius into one. The prideful Cryo ordered, “Get the fuck up. We’re gonna go get you another Qualae, even if we have to scavenge it from Praetor fucking Sun herself. And then? I’m going to teleport us into the Inferose and murder the shithead who shot me. We can get this Judas fellow, too. I don’t even care about your blackmail. Means nothing to me.”

A flicker reemerged within Dante’s heart as he squinted. Still, he didn’t totally believe Eight, “I can have another one? And... it’s still here?”

A broad smile mirrored off Eight’s jaws, and the young master of violence laughed aloud. He pointed off into the distance as dust, ice, blood, and a myriad of other elements entered the atmosphere, “Yes. Who says you can’t? And, of course, it is. Judas only closed the entrance. But do you remember who I am? If I want in somewhere... who fuck will stop me? Some mind-hugging freak? Nah.” Eight offered a hand to Dante, lowering it with an open invitation. “I might be... this thing, but I know how my Stigmata works. With my earlier practice, I can do it. Come on. A deal is a deal, even if you cheated.”

Dante gazed up at the hand and hesitated for only a split second. Then, he clasped his flesh around Eight’s. After reaching his feet, the man wobbled shortly before stumbling after the Cryo, for he had already walked away.

I cheated? How childish. If the game is rigged, then the only way to play is to cheat. Since I was born, nothing has been fair. The kid’s wise for his years, but he’s still a kid in the end. He’ll learn. If we survive.

The human struggled to keep up, tripping and falling every few steps from the wear of the battles and his thoughts. Nonetheless, his eyes burned once more with a radiant glow, opposite to Judas’ black, as he eyed the horizon.

There, his true Qualae and Stigmata would lie. And if he did indeed get his powers from a Caesar as Eight jested...

Dante would be more powerful than ever. More than that, too. He would have a firm foundation to grow from. Most Seafarers, Psions, Tidewalkers, Windbreakers, or any other Designation started from a lowly Anaphage.

Now, if he could begin anew, with his skills, though meager, with the boost of a Caesar? Legends said that the youngest Legate, Heaven’s Devil, was the first to ever bear a Caesar’s weight. Furthermore, Legate Ganun was a Cultivator, not a Tidewalker, who benefitted the most from such legacies. Such a future was boundless as long as Dante could survive.

His mouth watered at what might await him. However, Dante’s joy dampened with Eight’s very next sentence, “Also, I’m not apologizing for wanting to kill you.”

The two shared a glance and laughed, a sharp, resonant sound that echoed across the field and rustled through the trees ahead.

The human shook his head. Dante knew the truth about this little bastard beside him. Eight was hypocritical, bloodthirsty, and enigmatic. Dante didn’t believe his reasoning for wanting him dead for a second, yet for the time being, that didn’t matter. He was safe from the Anomaly. His blackmail might have failed, but he wasn’t too worried anymore.

Why? It was simple. They both believed in the deal, and their goals aligned. As such, they could walk safely. Neither would give their lives for the other, but cooperation was possible.

The younger fellow’s eyes streaked toward the open sky as they walked toward the distant, boiling trees. Without the canopy above, the heavens bloomed with a dual violent-orange, constantly battling for dominion. Beyond where the leaves would have been, specks of darkness appeared, blotting out the colors.

Eight paused, his steps halting without explanation. Dante, too, slowed, turning to face the teen. Then, his eyes, too, rose into the sky, watching as birds fluttered overhead, wolves howled in the distance, and the clangor of crickets resounded throughout the world.

Life had replanted itself upon the world the instant the Inferose left. But it was more than that. These creatures were not ordinary. Each was legendary, fabled beings capable of using dimensional energies on their own. They were yet more challengers, desiring to scavenge the scraps.

The Cryo’s hand pointed upward, tagging a building-sized, wingless, and footless bird. It possessed no feathers yet flew. With a grin, Eight met Dante as the former recalled a memory he didn’t have.

He spoke with a sort of meaning Dante had never heard from him before, “You see that? It’s a Loveless Bird. A rare specimen, capable of crossing entire Sectors in hours. Do you know why I love them?”

“Why?”

Dante returned the question to him, and Eight laughed, “Because they have no legs. No wings. No feathers. They cannot swim, either. There is no home for them to return to. Once they leave their nest and learn to control the Lightsea, leaping into the air… They have only one choice. To fly!”

The young man’s eyes hardened, and he stared Dante down as he held out a hand. Eight couldn’t recall the last time someone had saved his life. He remembered nothing other than that Loveless Bird. It meant something. He didn’t know why or how. Nonetheless, he idolized the Loveless Bird.

“For… the second it lands, it seals its fate.”

Dante’s pupils dilated, shining with brilliance. At that moment, he understood the core of Eight. The boy moved without a rhyme or rhythm, but he did, in fact, have one. Eight’s ambitions were higher than anyone could imagine.

He aimed for the summit of a peak that had been cleaved off. He wanted to soar so high that he could never fall back down.

The human gazed at Eight, amazed by the young man’s unveiled motives.

It was not the simple goal of acquiring Dante another Qualae and restoring his talents. Upon peering at the Loveless Bird, Eight recalled the figure that protected the old man in his forgotten memories. It was fate. Eight desired to use Claudius to writhe up the ladder of power for the boy’s own plans, but that could wait.

Fate had other plans, and Eight didn’t want to fight these memories in his head. There was only one option.

Without his typical arrogance or boyish-jest, he found a truth he could not ignore.

Bet it all on this single chance. Hold nothing back. Should they fail, they would both die, crashing without wings to carry them or legs to stand them back up. Not even feathers would cushion their fall.

However… if they survived… if they kept themselves aloft in this typhoon they walked toward…

The Cryo disregarded his hate and his disgust for the human. Instead, he offered his life for the boundless opportunity that presented itself. It would be effortless to steal some insights or strength among the bodies of half a dozen Caesars.

Yet it was only once.

Once.

If they died once, it was over. Meanwhile, they had to survive without fault. One failure meant death for both men. Neither enjoyed a gamble. Even so, it was all they had ever known. They had always bet something in every fight, every maneuver, and every action.

But this once, this singular time, they could do more than just imagine for that beautiful future.

The sky above lost its light as hordes of Loveless Birds broke out of the Lightsea while the planet’s atmosphere contained only the howling winds of distant warfare. Blood spilled, lives ended, and two hands, unequal in weight, grasped each other fairly.

“Then let us fly.”