Dante walked through the ruins of Veldrath, kicking a broken skull out of his path. The air was thick with dust, and the silence felt unnatural—like something was watching. The Trickster hummed in his mind, unbothered by the eerie atmosphere.
"Creepy, right? Used to be a lively place. Now? Just ghosts and broken dreams."
Dante rolled his eyes. "You're the one who picked this place. Couldn't we just rob a noble or something?"
"And pass up the chance to meet a man who's been dead but not dead for centuries? Where's your sense of adventure?"
The Sound God chuckled. "I gotta say, I like this one. Undead kings? Curses? Feels very dramatic."
Dante ignored them, tightening his grip on his blade as he moved through the ruined streets. The city was long abandoned, but the rumors were clear: beneath Veldrath lay the Stillborn King, a ruler cursed to never truly die.
And his heart was the next thing Dante needed.
---
The entrance was hidden in an old temple, half-buried in rubble. The stairs leading down were cracked and uneven, winding deep beneath the surface.
The moment Dante stepped inside, the air grew thick and heavy.
Then came the whispers.
Shadows flickered at the edge of his vision—Echoes, remnants of the dead trapped in an endless cycle of their final moments.
One lunged at him. A woman, her face twisted in agony, reaching out as if begging for help—then suddenly shrieking as her form glitched, replaying her own death.
Dante cursed, slashing through it, but his blade passed through like mist.
"Echoes don't die, kid. Just keep moving."
"Unless you want to make some new friends," the Sound God added.
Dante ignored them, pushing forward as more Echoes formed around him, their distorted screams filling the crypt.
At the center of the room was a massive throne, covered in chains.
And sitting on it was the Stillborn King.
His body was withered, skeletal, yet his sunken eyes burned with awareness. His chest was motionless, no heartbeat, yet he still lived.
His voice was a rasp, like dry leaves scraping stone.
"Who… dares… disturb my slumber?"
Dante crossed his arms. "Listen, old man. We just need your heart. You'll grow a new one, so no big deal, right?"
The King laughed, dry and cracked.
"Fools. My heart is the only thing keeping me tethered to this world. If it is taken, I will fade… and I will not allow that."
The Trickster sighed. "See? Stubborn. That's why I had a backup plan."
Dante raised an eyebrow. "Which is?"
"We lie."
The Trickster stepped forward—taking over Dante's body just enough to bow like a proper con artist.
"Oh mighty King, what if we told you… we could replace your heart with one even greater?"
The King narrowed his eyes. "A trickster's words. I will not be deceived."
The Sound God chimed in, amused. "Oh, it's not a trick. You see, your heart regrows every time it's taken, doesn't it? We're simply borrowing one. You won't even notice the difference."
The King hesitated. He knew his heart regenerated.
Dante, still not sure this would work, charged forward and plunged his hand into the King's chest.
The King screamed as Dante ripped the dead heart from his body.
Immediately, a new one began forming. The King slumped forward, weakened but still alive.
"See? You'll be fine. Thanks for the donation."
Dante held the Stillborn King's heart in his hand. It was cold—too cold—and pulsed with a sickly glow. Even without beating, it felt alive.
The King sagged against his throne, his body already regrowing what was taken. His glare burned into Dante.
"You thieves…" he rasped. "You do not know what you hold."
Dante scoffed. "Yeah? Enlighten me, oh wise, rotting one."
The Trickster chuckled. "Oh, I like that. 'Rotting One.' Got a nice ring to it."
The King ignored them, his voice growing sharper. "My heart is not just my own. It carries the weight of my curse. To hold it… is to bear its burden."
Dante felt it then—a creeping sensation, like fingers digging into his chest. His grip tightened, and for a brief moment, he saw something—
A vision.
A battlefield. Thousands dead. A king standing alone, defying death.
And a voice.
"You will never die, but you will never live. Such is the price of defying fate."
Dante blinked back to reality. His breathing was heavier, his hands trembling.
"Yeah, yeah," the Trickster muttered, "he's cursed. Shocking."
"Dante…" the Sound God's voice was uncharacteristically serious. "Something's wrong with that heart."
Dante growled. "You're telling me now?"
A pulse of energy shot through his body—his vision blurred, warped. The crypt twisted, reality flickering like a broken image. The King's curse was latching onto him.
"Well, kid? You gonna break free, or you gonna die in this tomb?"
Dante gritted his teeth. "Screw this."
He raised his sword—and stabbed the heart.
---
The heart screamed.
Or maybe it was the King. Or maybe reality itself—Dante wasn't sure.
A wave of black energy erupted from the heart, forcing him back. His body burned as if his own soul was being ripped apart.
But he held on.
His mind was being invaded by the curse, but Dante was used to things living inside him.
The Trickster. The Sound God. Now this?
He clenched his fist. "Not today."
With a final push, Dante crushed the heart in his hands.
A deafening BOOM echoed through the crypt. The energy imploded, consuming the room in black light—then it was gone.
The Stillborn King slumped further, laughing weakly.
"Perhaps… you are more than a mere thief."
Dante staggered, barely keeping himself upright. His body felt different. Lighter. Stronger.
The Trickster whistled. "Huh. Looks like you absorbed a bit of the curse. That's… interesting."
"Interesting?!" Dante snapped. "You mean I just got cursed?!"
"Ehh… minor details."
The Sound God hummed. "You are still standing, which means either you're incredibly lucky… or you just inherited something."
Dante clenched his fists, ignoring the creeping sensation in his veins. No time to worry about that now.
He turned to leave. "One down. What's next?"
The Trickster grinned.
"Now we need something simple—just the blood of a fallen star."
Dante stopped.
Slowly turned.
"...What the hell does that even mean?"
The Sound God snorted. "I think he means the blood of a Celestial."
Dante groaned. "So, what? I have to go stab an angel?"
The Trickster clapped his hands. "Oh, no, no, no. Not an angel. Those guys are uptight. We need something better."
He leaned in.
"We need to find a Starborn."
Dante sighed, rubbing his temples. "Of course we do. And where exactly do we find one of those?"
A loud crash sounded above them.
Dante looked up—and saw something falling from the sky.
A streak of blue fire.
A star.
The Trickster grinned wider. "Looks like one just found us."
Dante cursed under his breath.
This was going to be a pain in the ass.