Chapter 82: Before You Go

The Cosmic Energy freed itself from the Lunar Stone in a silent explosion, expanding luminous waves that engulfed the entire room. The brightness was so intense that the shadows compressed into the corners, trembling like living creatures. Every surface reflected that celestial gold.

The man's body trembled like a string stretched too far, spasms shaking his muscles in an erratic, brutal rhythm, as if something inside him tried to escape. Dante held him, gripping tightly, his fingers firm, like a blacksmith containing molten metal before shaping it. There was no room for hesitation here. The world around them seemed frozen, but Degol burned under his hands.

Dante had felt this heat before, years ago, when he lost control. He couldn't let it free; his muscles and organs would tear apart if the Cosmic Energy was not stabilized.

"Hold him as tightly as you can," Dante said to everyone around. "Clerk, come."

With Clerk, he stretched his hand toward Degol, and Dante grabbed his hand and placed it over the golden liquid. The pressure coming from Jix also fell upon him, forcing his legs to bend slightly. His face contorted as well.

"This is... madness," Clerk gasped, nearly spitting the words, his face as pale as sour milk. "I'll begin," he added, although his voice betrayed fear.

Clerk's ability generated a strange suction against the Lunar Stone in liquid form. Dante wasn't sure, but the man beside him seemed able to fix or improve something based on his own vitality. A gift or a curse, depending on the view.

If it was this way, then let it be by the Cosmic Energy he had. Gravity acted as a rebound, generating continuous friction around him.

But when they all saw the golden liquid turning whitish, they understood the liquid was being improved and touching the skin. The muscle tissue was taking on a greenish tint while the smell of rot began to leak from within.

Clara stared at Dante. She hadn't expected him to be doing all this just to keep Degol alive, but whatever he thought, it seemed to be working. The spasms grew smaller, but Degol simply raised his head and let out a roar.

It was the first sound he had made in almost an entire month. And Dante used his other hand, holding his head and throwing it against the stretcher.

"Hold on, it's not time to get up yet."

His words brought a smile to those around. He continued forcing his Energy through Clerk, significantly reducing each requirement so that he could remain intact. Fixing a body was infinitely more complex than restoring a cracked wall or a broken weapon. Walls didn't have veins, bones, or pulsating organs; walls didn't fight against you.

The effort demanded everything from them. Clerk panted like a horse on its last steps, but still held firm, obeying Dante's will.

Jix was already visibly exhausted after the first hour, sweat forming dark patches on his worn clothes. His face was pale, his eyes deep and dull, but he remained steady, like a soldier refusing to let go of his cane.

Clerk, on the other hand, had stopped panting. It wasn't a good sign. He was now conserving every bit of strength, his eyes closed and his breath controlled, slow and rhythmic through his nose. His chest rose and fell as though even air was too scarce to waste.

Dante raised his eyes, searching for something to focus on, something to keep his mind away from the fatigue threatening to break him. That's when he saw her. Clara was on the other side, still as a statue, but her face betrayed everything she was trying to hide. Worry consumed her, a silent distress stamped on every line of her expression.

"Hey," her voice broke the silence, drawing the attention of everyone. "It's going to be okay, right?"

"Why are you saying this now?" her voice came low, but still resisting Degol's spasms. "I need you to focus."

Dante flashed a wide smile and nodded.

"Yes, ma'am."

Dante acted quickly. He pulled Clerk's hand away from Degol, pulling him out of concentration. Before they could say anything, Dante's hands slammed against Degol's head and chest.

"You can wake up now."

The Cosmic Energy that freed itself from within Dante came like a waterfall falling from a cliff—powerful, overwhelming, impossible to contain. It roared through him, burning through his veins like liquid fire, before spilling over Degol's mutilated body.

Degol's veins bulged under his skin, thick and pulsing. Slowly, but with inexorable force, the burned skin began to renew, glowing in sickly hues under the dim light. The dark spots, the rotting blisters, and the stench poisoning the air began to give way, dissipating like shadows under the dawn.

The scorched fingers stretched, rebuilt inch by inch, while the burned hair recomposed itself, growing back like grass after the rain. Every lost piece of vitality seemed to be pulled from the depths of the abyss, forcibly ripped from the place where it had been forgotten since the day of his fall.

Degol's body was still a battlefield, but now, instead of defeat, there was something else. Something that pulsed. Something that returned.

When the light began to flood his eyes, Dante let out a rough, unexpected laugh. He had never thought it would work, quite the opposite—within his expectations, he had only wanted the test to be certain so they'd have a chance to save his life.

But, if Juno were ever discovered, Dante would have a card to play. Degol's life would be his bet, a debt impossible to ignore. One life for another. He would hold onto that card until the right moment came, like a dagger hidden beneath a cloak.

That's when Vick warned him, her voice dry and emotionless, filled with a cold urgency:

"Friction indices are rapidly decaying. Full percentage utilization in real-time. Time window: immediate."

Dante understood instantly, but his reaction came a second too late. He yanked his hands away, the sudden and desperate movement, but it was already done. The pressure reversed into a violent rebound, a wave of light that struck him like a hammer. The force lifted him off the ground, throwing him backward with brutality.

He collided with the curtain set up to isolate the room, tearing it with a sharp, dry sound. His body spun in the air before hitting the ground hard, the impact knocking the breath out of him. For a moment, everything was pain and light. Dante placed his hand on his chest, where a burning heat spread, like embers beneath the skin.

It was he who trapped the pain in his muscles, like a man holding a thread about to snap. He didn't scream, didn't groan. He just breathed deeply, his eyes half-closed, while the pain pulsed in slow, relentless waves.

Dante had his mouth open, not releasing any air. He saw Clara crouch beside him, her face marked by a mix of panic and determination. Her fingers touched his face, then his neck, as if searching for something she already knew was wrong. She spoke, her lips moving in hurried phrases, but Dante didn't hear a single word. It was as if silence had swallowed everything.

Clara turned to someone, gesturing urgently, but Dante forced a smile. It was all he could offer. Don't worry, he wanted to say. The words formed in his mind, but never reached his lips. He knew what was happening. His body was giving in, slow and inevitable, like a wall worn down by decades. He just didn't expect it to happen because of someone like Degol—someone he'd never had a good feeling toward. The irony made him smile once again, weakly, as his eyelids began to weigh down.

Before the darkness took him, he felt two firm taps on his cheek. His eyes opened with effort, and there she was. Juno. She was looking at him sideways, her expression irritated and determined, like a mother scolding a stubborn child. Juno shook her head twice, refusing, as if telling him this wasn't the end.

I need to rest a bit, girl..., Dante thought, almost letting the words slip, but her expression hardened. She shook her head again, refusing more forcefully, as if she rejected even the idea of giving up.

Then Juno reached out her hand to his chest. Dante felt the warmth before the shock—a brutal electric charge that ran through his body like a storm hitting a dry tree. His chest arched, muscles contracting in spasms, while his heartbeats raced like a maddened drum.

He gasped, drawing in air with force, like a man emerging from drowning. The silence around him shattered all at once, replaced by the sound of his own breath and blood roaring in his ears. Juno remained there, motionless, her hand still extended, eyes fixed on him, challenging him to die.

Dante coughed, breathless, and looked at her, his eyes still hazy, but alive. Damn girl, he thought, not knowing whether to laugh or shout.