Fury.
A deep, primal emotion that emerges from the shadows of the heart when anger surpasses all bounds. It's a state that consumes the soul, obliterating reason and consciousness. Dante was immersed in this fury now, a black flame burning with such intensity that it seemed to want to devour the world itself.
Nothing else mattered. Neither allies nor enemies. Only the idea of rescuing Sara pulsed in his mind, each beat of his heart like a war drum echoing in the emptiness of the night.
For Voralith, who had traveled through countless worlds, who had witnessed horrors and wonders beyond mortal understanding, seeing Dante in this state was something she could never have anticipated. Her legs trembled, a chill ran down her spine, and her eyes were fixed on the black pillar rising to the skies—a tower of misunderstood rage and hatred. She didn't know what had happened there, but it was something very bad.
