The battlefield had ceased to be merely a long-destroyed coliseum, transforming into something much closer to an open abyss in the middle of reality, where each impact distorted space, each exchange of blows made the air vibrate as if about to completely rupture, and each breath carried the weight of a war that had already surpassed any logical limit of existence.
At the center of it all, Sapphire and Sepphirothy continued fighting Dante with renewed intensity, not because they were stronger, but because they had accepted something simple and brutal: there was no more room for error, hesitation, or unnecessary pride.
Even so, in this extreme state of focus, the two remained who they were, and that meant that not even in that absolute hell could they stop arguing.
