The air was heavy in the training grounds.
The sky, once clear, was now covered in darkened clouds. Electricity crackled through the air, dancing across Dante's skin like a living storm.
Across from him stood Bran, arms crossed, his usual smirk present but unreadable.
The dirt beneath them had been disturbed, scarred by countless battles. Yet, in the center of it all, Bran drew a perfect circle in the ground.
"You already know the drill," Bran said lazily, stepping inside the circle. "Knock me out of this, and you win."
Dante's amber eyes burned with determination.
"Easier said than done."
Bran cracked his neck. "Well? Get started."
---
Dante exploded forward.
The ground beneath him shattered, electricity surging through his legs as he lunged like a lightning bolt. His fist crackled with black lightning, aimed directly for Bran's chest.
BOOM!
His fist collided—
But Bran didn't move.
Dante's eyes widened. His knuckles were buried against Bran's torso, but it felt like he had punched a mountain.
Before he could react—
A backhand strike.
Bran's casual swing sent Dante flying backward, his body skidding across the dirt.
Dante gritted his teeth, forcing himself upright. His chest ached, but he smirked.
"This is gonna be fun."
---
Dante vanished again, his speed doubling.
This time, he didn't strike head-on.
He zigzagged, his body flickering like a living storm, throwing rapid, precise attacks from different angles.
A left jab—blocked.
A spinning kick—deflected with ease.
A lightning-infused elbow strike—Bran dodged it by tilting his head slightly.
Dante's frustration grew. No matter how fast or unpredictable he was, Bran didn't budge.
Bran yawned. "You're quick, I'll give you that."
Dante didn't let up.
Lightning erupted from his body, his veins pulsing with raw energy. The air around him vibrated, the temperature rising.
"Let's see you handle this."
---
Dante summoned everything he had.
Lightning coiled around his arms, his entire body glowing with an electrified aura. The air became dense, suffocating—the charge so strong that even the ground started to crack.
Bran raised an eyebrow.
And then—Dante moved.
Faster. Stronger.
He appeared behind Bran in an instant, his fist already mid-swing.
Bran turned—but too late.
CRACK!
His punch landed square on Bran's side, the force causing a massive shockwave. The ground beneath them split open.
For the first time—Bran's body shifted.
Not out of the circle.
But he moved.
Dante's grin widened. "I can do this."
He launched forward again.
Bran sighed.
And then—he struck.
---
The moment Dante stepped in, Bran's fist met his gut.
BOOM.
The impact was instant. Devastating.
Dante's entire body folded, the wind knocked from his lungs. His feet left the ground.
Then—another hit.
Bran's heel came down on his shoulder like an executioner's blade. Dante slammed into the ground, creating a crater.
He gasped for breath. His entire body screamed in pain.
Bran stood over him, shaking his head. "You're strong."
Dante gritted his teeth.
Bran smirked. "But you're not stronger than me."
---
Dante forced himself up, coughing.
"...I moved you," he said between breaths.
Bran's grin widened. "Yeah. You did."
Dante wiped the blood from his lips, his confidence still burning.
Bran stretched his arms. "But moving me isn't the same as beating me. You don't win a war by just being fast or strong. You win by knowing when to strike and when to wait."
Dante frowned. "...What are you saying?"
Bran sighed. "You came at me like a wild storm. No control. No patience. You could've taken my balance if you timed it right, but you were too busy trying to overwhelm me."
Dante clenched his fists.
Bran's smirk softened. "You're talented, Dante. But power alone doesn't win battles."
He turned away.
"That's your lesson for today."
Dante exhaled slowly.
He had lost.
But he had also learned.
And next time—he wouldn't make the same mistake.