Morrigan, the Goddess of the End

The dragon's deafening roar cut through the battlefield like a wave of destruction, the distant mountains trembling under the sheer power of Mary Rose. The air thickened with the malevolent energy she emanated, her titanic form filling the horizon as her wings blocked the golden rays that Strelitzia had brought. Yet Dante stood firm, unmoving, his posture now marked by a silence heavy with intent. The sarcasm had vanished from his face, replaced by something more solid, more terrifying: a cold and unshakable determination.

"Enough," he said, his voice slicing through the chaos like a sharp blade. Dante stepped forward, each movement reverberating with a power that seemed to bend reality around him. He turned to his wives, his features softening just enough to reveal a hint of affection.

"Return to the Tenth Floor," he ordered, his voice firm but respectful. "This battle is mine. You've done enough. Protect each other there. I'll handle this."