The questioning about one's existence is fundamental to one's being. Perhaps it's something beyond the norm, but to me, I don't exist. I'm a complex of existence out of the ordinary, born only to endure the worst evils. That was my complex, that was me.
When I lived as Dante, I thought everything could be easily resolved with strength, but that was the reason I fell. I wasn't the smartest being, nor the best wizard, nor the best knight, or anything of the sort. I was a combination of everything and yet, at the same time, I was nothing.
Was my skill with the spear good? Yes, but it wasn't mine. It was a copy of Valentina's skills, who now slept silently in a Ruby Cube, sealed by the simple death of a useless being like me.
