THE PREDATOR UNLEASHED.

Chapter 7: The Predator Unleashed

The moment Dante's fist connected, the figure staggered back—just a step. But that single step was enough. Enough to tell Dante one thing: It could bleed.

The Null Hounds didn't wait.

They surged forward in a coordinated wave, their silver eyes gleaming with animalistic hunger. Their movements were too fluid, too synchronized—like a pack controlled by something larger than themselves.

Dante didn't hesitate.

His body moved.

A clawed hound lunged at his throat—he ducked, pivoted, and drove his elbow into its ribs. The impact sent it flying into two others, their bodies colliding in a tangle of limbs. Another beast swiped at his back—Dante spun, catching its wrist mid-air. He barely recognized the strength in his own grip before he twisted.

A sickening snap.

The hound crumpled.

The rest didn't stop.

The moment Dante turned, another one was already there. Then another. And another.

Their fangs glistened, their bodies blurring with unnatural speed, but Dante was faster. His golden-lit muscles responded before his mind could catch up. His punches cracked bones, his kicks sent creatures soaring into the wreckage.

This power—this thing inside him—it wasn't just strength. It was instinct.

And for the first time… it felt like his.

Lyra was moving, too.

She had taken position on a jagged piece of debris, her gun firing precise, calculated shots. Each bullet hit its mark—eyes, throats, the soft spaces between armor. She wasn't just a scientist. She was trained.

But Dante didn't have time to dwell on that.

The figure in black had recovered.

And this time—it wasn't holding back.

A metallic whir filled the air as the figure's arms unfolded, revealing sleek, serrated blades that extended from its gauntlets. With a flicker of red light, the air around it distorted—a sonic burst of energy blasting outward.

Dante barely managed to brace himself before the force hit him.

His body slammed backward, skidding across the ruined ground. Dust and metal shards flew in all directions. The second he stopped moving, the figure was already above him.

A blade slashed downward.

Dante twisted—too slow.

A burning line of pain seared across his ribs as the edge barely grazed him. Blood splattered onto the dirt.

But the moment the blade touched his skin—

Something happened.

The golden energy beneath his veins flared. His body reacted.

Pain vanished.

His blood glowed, the wound sealing itself in real time. The figure froze, red eyes flickering in what almost looked like shock.

Dante grinned, wiping the blood off his skin. "Yeah," he exhaled. "That's new."

The figure didn't give him time to process. It struck again—faster this time, a blur of lethal motion. Dante dodged left, narrowly avoiding a second blade aimed for his throat. He retaliated with a kick, but the figure caught his leg mid-air.

A second later—

Dante was airborne.

The impact was brutal. His back slammed against a piece of broken hull, denting the metal. Air rushed from his lungs. He barely had time to roll before the figure was on him again.

This thing wasn't just fast. It was adapting.

Dante gritted his teeth. Then I just have to be faster.

His body responded before thought could catch up.

He dodged under the next swing—barely. The blade skimmed his hair, slicing through a chunk of debris behind him. Before the figure could adjust, Dante drove his fist into its side.

The force sent it reeling.

Dante didn't stop.

He lunged, twisting mid-air, bringing his knee up—connecting with the figure's helmet. A sharp crack rang out. The red visor flickered, cracks spiderwebbing across its sleek surface.

For the first time, the figure took a full step back.

And for the first time, Dante saw hesitation.

"You feel that?" Dante exhaled, rolling his shoulders. His golden eyes burned bright in the dim light. "That's me getting used to this body."

The figure remained silent. But Dante could feel it. That moment of calculation. Of reassessment.

Lyra's voice cut through the tension.

"Dante, we can't keep this up!"

He knew she was right. They were outnumbered. The Null Hounds weren't dead, just waiting.

And whoever this armored bastard was, they weren't fighting at full capacity yet.

Then—

The distant sound of rotors.

Dante's head snapped up. Beyond the ridge, dark shapes cut through the night sky—silent, tactical. They moved with military precision.

Reinforcements.

Not for them.

The figure's red visor flickered once more. Then, without a single word, it vanished.

A pulse of sound. A shift in the air.

Gone.

The Null Hounds followed. One by one, they melted back into the darkness, retreating as fast as they had come.

Dante's pulse thundered in his ears. His breath was ragged, his muscles humming with leftover energy.

Then—

Silence.

Lyra lowered her gun, glancing toward the ridge. "We need to move."

Dante exhaled, shaking the tension from his limbs. "Yeah," he muttered, watching the dark horizon.

His fingers flexed.

That power. That speed.

It wasn't just inside him anymore.

It was waking up.

And something told him—

This was only the beginning.

—

End of Chapter 7.