Astaroth's uncontrollable fury collided with Dante's absolute confidence like a storm challenging a mountain.
Astaroth advanced, each of her strikes an explosion of pure demonic power, her claws slicing through the air like blades, her dark aura pulsing with a force that made the very ground of Hell tremble. But Dante, in his new role as Sovereign, seemed unphased.
He dodged with ease. Every lethal blow she delivered was met with a subtle, calculated movement, his figure almost unshaken, as though he were merely toying with her. And, in a way, he was.
"You really thought you could face me in this state?" Dante mocked, his voice laced with disdain. With almost lazy motion, he grabbed Astaroth's wrist mid-attack and threw her with such force that she crashed through a nearby mountain.