Chapter 78: Life and Revenge

Dante smiled upon seeing what his strength had created. No matter how much time passed, whenever he used his power, he remembered his father. On the quietest days in the village, when the wind was cold but comforting.

The memory was solid, a foundation that kept him grounded, even in the midst of chaos. But this connection, while giving him strength, also demanded its price.

And Vick, as the beautiful AI she was, announced in his mind:

"Usage levels exceed the limit. Body damage increasing. Misuse of Cosmic Energy. Excessive use of muscle mass. Restarting system, wait time: indefinite."

He felt the impact of the words. A throbbing heat rose through his arms, his body protesting the colossal energy he had channeled. The smile didn't disappear, but it became more contained, almost resigned. He knew he had crossed the limits again, but that's what he did. Always.

Indefinite, he thought, repeating Vick's last word in his mind. Even if the system forced him to stop, the cost never mattered to him. As long as he could protect, fight, and maybe one day return home, any price was acceptable.

His legs lost strength, his arms dropped, and Dante felt his head grow heavy. When his eyes stopped responding, he lost consciousness. He fell to the left, where there was no building anymore.

The body began to fall from the building, slowly. Until it hit the snow.

I

It had been two days since Mogrot lost his leg. The cold bit the exposed stump, a cruel reminder of his defeat. The other leg, useless, was broken in several places, and the right arm… Well, it was no longer there. The shot had ripped it off as if it were made of paper.

He dragged himself, using his left hand to push himself forward. His calloused and dirty fingers found support in the holes and cracks of the streets. Each pull forward was torture, but stopping wasn't an option. Not after what had happened.

Mogrot had lost, and in a humiliating way. He replayed the scene over and over in his mind. The old man with the hardened appearance and the girl with the lightning — they were strong, that much he couldn't deny. But he had the advantage, didn't he? At least, he believed so until the last moment. It was the burst, that damn blue burst, that hit him in the air and made him lose control of the flames. The memory of the impact still burned in his mind as much as the heat that dissipated at that moment.

He looked at what was left of his right arm. It was grotesque, a mass of burned flesh and exposed bones. The smell still lingered, ingrained in his nostrils, mixed with the stench of dirty snow and the filthy street. Feeling anger was inevitable. It was what kept him alive.

"They will pay…" he growled, his teeth clenched as he spat the words.

The snow around him began to melt under the heat still left in his body. He wasn't finished, not yet. The old man and the girl hadn't finished the job, and that would be their biggest mistake.

"Well, well. To think I'd see a worm crawl this far from the shit, huh?"

The voice cut through the silence of the snow like a thin, precise blade. Mogrot raised his face with effort, every movement radiating pain through his mutilated body. The cold seemed to mock him, sinking its frozen teeth into his open wounds. And there she was. Arsena Lio.

He recognized the smile on her lips, crueler than any burst or blow he'd ever received. Her short hair swayed in the wind, the heavy black attire seemed to absorb the light around her, but what caught his attention most were the two swords strapped to her waist. The blades were still sheathed, but that wasn't what made him hesitate. He knew Arsena's true weapon wasn't visible. She didn't just steal supplies — she stole lives, fates, hopes.

"Are you going to lend me a hand or keep laughing at my misfortune?" Mogrot grunted, dragging his body a bit more through the snow, every pull a torment. "I need to see Duna. He can… fix me."

Arsena leaned slightly, eyeing him with eyes that seemed to slice him from top to bottom.

"I can give you a hand, sure." She smiled dangerously, kneeling before him as if examining a broken toy. "But weren't you in Kappz yesterday? This is TreFall. It's almost a day's journey."

Mogrot gritted his teeth. The simple act of hearing the name "Kappz" made the blood pulse in his head, intensifying the throbbing pain that consumed him. He felt the hatred bubble in his chest, the memory of that damn old man — that bastard who knocked him down so easily. He could almost see the scene again: the enormous power, the terrifying skill, and the sharp intelligence. And then came the girl.

The image of the giant electric arm coming down toward him haunted him again. He squinted his eyes, trying to push the memory away. The blow hadn't just been physical; it had broken something inside him.

"That old man… and the girl…" he murmured, almost to himself. "They'll pay for this. All of them."

Arsena raised an eyebrow, a malicious smile appearing again.

"Interesting. Do you have something in mind, or are you just spitting threats in the snow?" Her voice was like the sound of a blade being sharpened, ready to cut. "Maybe I should leave you here. But…" She paused, casually touching the hilt of one of her swords. "You amuse me, little Mogrot. Let's see how far your thirst for revenge goes."

I

When they finally laid Mogrot down on the cold metal table, the environment around him seemed even more hostile. Duna's workshop was a metal cave of scrap and gadgets, with the constant sound of machines squealing, gears grinding, and sparks flying. The smell of burning oil and hot metal filled the air, mixing with the stench of blood and burns emanating from Mogrot.

Above him, Duna and Arsena's faces appeared as threatening shadows under the flickering light of the old lamps. The old man Duna had a face marked by time and some fight he'd gotten into many years ago. A long, irregular scar ran from his forehead to his neck, crossing one of his eyes, which somehow still allowed him to see normally. There were stories, rumors about how he'd survived so many battles, but Mogrot didn't believe them. Duna had always been reclusive, and even then, his skill wasn't for fighting.

"You always asked how you're still alive, old man," Mogrot muttered, his voice rough, filled with sarcasm.

Duna let out a dry laugh, characteristic of him, a sound more like old metal grinding than human. That's why Mogrot liked him so much.

"Surviving isn't about luck. It's about usefulness." He leaned in, examining Mogrot's injuries with his clinical eyes, ignoring the blood still dripping from his mutilated arm. "And you… well, looks like you're learning this the hard way."

Arsena crossed her arms on the side, keeping the provocative smile she always wore. A woman so unpleasant that Mogrot, during the journey here, preferred to die rather than be helped by her.

"Does he still have use, or should I toss him out?" she asked casually.

Being treated like trash wasn't new, but by her, it was even worse.

"You don't need to treat him like that, but yes, he still has use." Duna picked up a strange tool from his side, which made a sharp sound when turned on. "But it's going to hurt. A lot."

Mogrot snorted, trying to hide his discomfort.

"Just do it already. I don't have time to stand here listening to your jokes."

"Neither do I have time to waste on you, but it looks like we don't have a choice." Duna began working, the scar on his face contorting into something that seemed like a mix of concentration and contempt. "Now, stay still and try not to die while I get you back on your feet."

Arsena remained standing, leaning against the wall of the workshop, arms crossed, her eyes fixed on Mogrot. She didn't say anything, but her gaze carried an uncomfortable weight, as if she was analyzing every part of him, judging how much it was still worth keeping him alive.

Mogrot, on the other hand, couldn't hide his discomfort. Every time Duna touched the stumps of his mutilated limbs, connecting wires and adjusting metal pieces, his body involuntarily twitched. The pain wasn't unbearable, but it served as a cruel reminder. With each adjustment, he remembered the blow that had ripped him from the air, the burst that destroyed his defenses and threw him like a piece of trash.

His mind, in a whirlwind, refused to rest. The images of Dante and Juno in Kappz were burned in his mind like hot iron. He could see Dante's eyes, filled with determination, and the electricity around Juno, the giant arm made of pure energy that had almost split him in half.

How did I fail? He asked himself repeatedly, trying to come up with new plans and explore possibilities. He thought of more direct approaches, elaborate traps, even dangerous alliances, but nothing seemed plausible. Not against them. Not with what he saw that day.

A wave of fear swept through his body, cold and uncomfortable. It wasn't just anger that consumed him; it was something deeper, more primal. It was the recognition that, even with all his strength, he hadn't been enough. And for the first time in a long time, Mogrot felt fear.

"You're too quiet," Arsena commented, her voice cutting through the silence.

Mogrot raised his eyes to her, his brow furrowed, but without the sharp response he usually had on the tip of his tongue. She smiled smugly, noticing the internal conflict that tormented him.

"I failed," he murmured, more to himself than to her.

Arsena let out a low laugh, full of sarcasm.

"Don't say. I wouldn't have noticed, with you crawling through the snow like a run-over dog."

He gritted his teeth but didn't respond. He didn't have the strength for it. There was only one thing on his mind: revenge. But now, with the shadow of fear looming over him, it would take much more than anger to rise again.