What remained of Dante could no longer be called a body.
It was a living mass in constant collapse, a grotesque fusion of flesh, energy, and error, compulsively reorganizing itself as opposing forces tore him apart from the inside out without any respite. Yet… he didn't stop.
And that was precisely what made the demons change.
They stopped trying to destroy him.
And they began to break him.
Amon kept his hand firmly on his neck, his venomous energy now much denser, more refined, not only invading Dante's body but penetrating directly into his mental structure, like an acid that corroded thoughts, dissolved patterns, disintegrated any attempt at coherence.
"Body… regenerates," he murmured, his voice low and utterly cold. "But mind… always fails first."
Paimon smiled behind him.
But now… there was real intent in that smile.
It didn't just increase the lust. She directed it.
