Dante moved cautiously through the winding halls of the tower, his mind racing. The battle with the Specter had drained him, but it had also shown him something—the Abyss would never stop coming for him. Every step he took brought him closer to something more dangerous, something older, something that had been waiting for him all along.
The air around him seemed to grow heavier with every step. The oppressive weight of the tower pressed in on him, as if the very walls were alive, watching him. He had been through the worst of it before, but this—this felt different.
He could sense it in the air, in the way the shadows seemed to stretch and bend toward him. The Abyss was drawing near.
Dante stopped, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he paused in front of an ornate door, its surface covered in twisted runes. It pulsed with dark energy, faint whispers crawling from behind it, like voices from the void.
The Watcher had warned him. The Abyss had marked him, and the path ahead was filled with trials he would not survive if he wasn't ready. But how could he be ready? He could feel the pull of something greater inside him—the urge to consume, to give in to the hunger that gnawed at him constantly. But he refused.
Dante's eyes narrowed. He had already made his choice. He was not going to give in to the Abyss. He would carve his own path. Even if it meant facing what lay beyond that door.
With a deep breath, he pushed open the door.
The Court of Shadows
The chamber beyond was vast, its ceiling lost in shadows, the floor made of obsidian that gleamed like black glass. The room was empty at first glance, but Dante knew better. This place was alive with power.
The air felt thick with the weight of forgotten kings, rulers who had once sat on thrones of shadow, their influence still echoing in the very bones of the tower. Dante stepped cautiously inside, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the cold, vast hall.
At the far end of the room, a throne loomed—a throne of shadows, forged from the dark essence of the Abyss itself. It was empty for now, but Dante felt its presence, felt the power that called him to it.
And then he saw them—figures cloaked in darkness, standing silent and still like statues, their forms barely visible in the dim light. The Judges of the Abyss, Dante realized. These were not mere monsters. These were ancient beings, entities who had witnessed the rise and fall of empires, the beginning and end of countless worlds.
And they were here for him.
The one in the center stepped forward, its eyes glowing like molten fire. It wore a mask, its face hidden beneath an aura of darkness, but the power radiating from it was unmistakable. The Judge was not here to bargain. It was here to judge.
"So, you have come," the Judge said, its voice a low rumble that vibrated through Dante's chest. "The Forsaken. The one who dares defy the will of the Abyss."
Dante stood tall, his claws flexing at his sides. He would not bend. Not to this creature. Not to any of them.
"I've come to end this," Dante said, his voice steady. "I will not bow to the Abyss. I will not be a pawn in its game."
The Judge laughed, a sound like the cracking of bones. "You speak as if your will can change the tide of destiny. You are but a fragment, a flicker in the eternal night. You will be consumed."
Dante's heart pounded. No. He was not going to fall. He would not let them make him into something he wasn't. He would never be a pawn again.
The shadows around the Judge seemed to thicken, swirling and coiling like living creatures. The air grew colder, the very room shuddering as though it were about to collapse in on itself. Dante felt the pull—the desire to submit, to accept the Abyss's power as his own.
But he refused.
With a growl, he stepped forward, his claws sharp, his gaze locked on the Judge. "I will not be controlled."
The Judge's eyes flashed, its voice rising in a roar of fury. "Then prepare, Forsaken. You will feel the full weight of the Abyss upon you."
The Trial of Shadows
The ground beneath Dante's feet began to crack, and the shadows around him coalesced into forms—twisted, nightmarish creatures born from the very fabric of the Abyss. Nightmares made flesh.
Dante's breath quickened as the creatures closed in. He could feel the weight of their malevolent presence, their eyes glowing with hunger. These were no simple beasts. They were manifestations of the Abyss itself, sent to test him, to break him. They were his trial.
But Dante was done running.
With a roar, he launched himself forward, his claws slashing through the first creature, tearing it apart with brutal force. But there were more—so many more. As one fell, another took its place, and the room seemed to grow darker, the shadows swirling around him, pressing in.
He fought through it. Each strike, each movement was instinctive, honed from the battles he had fought before. His tail lashed out to trip one of the creatures, while his claws tore through the next, ripping through their shadowy forms like they were made of nothing more than smoke.
The creatures swarmed him, their claws scratching and tearing, but Dante was faster, stronger. His body moved with an agility he hadn't known he was capable of, each movement a dance of survival, of defiance. He refused to let them win.
And then, as the last creature fell to the ground, dissolving into nothingness, Dante stood in the center of the room, breathing heavily, his body covered in sweat and blood.
He had survived.
But the Judge was not finished. The darkness around it deepened, the air thick with an oppressive energy that threatened to suffocate him.
"Impressive," the Judge said, its voice now tinged with something like respect. "But the Abyss does not relent. You have only proven that you are a thorn in its side."
Dante's eyes narrowed. A thorn. But he was no mere nuisance. He was a force. And the Abyss would see that soon enough.
The Judge's gaze pierced him, its form growing larger, its power manifesting like a storm about to break.
"You have passed the trial. But the true test begins now, Forsaken."
Dante's heart beat in his chest. The weight of what was coming—the real battle—hung in the air like a storm, but he would face it. He was ready.
Because he knew one thing for sure:
The Abyss was not going to break him.