Dante's attempt to back down drew no response from the two of them.
They moved with swift, decisive purpose.
The moment he finished speaking, Dante saw one of them thrust an iron spike straight at him.
He was about to dodge when his mind suddenly went hazy.
The other one saw his condition and gave a cold snort.
Damn it. Dream power, Dante thought.
Dreams were a strange, elusive, and troublesome power.
They were not especially strong as a means of attack, but in an intense fight, they could distract you in any number of ways.
At times, they could even leave you unable to tell whether you were awake or dreaming.
These people were masters at weaving dreams.
Even someone of Dante's caliber needed time to distinguish a dream from reality.
Though he cursed inwardly, Dante still dodged the attack at once.
He set the coffin upright before him as a shield.
Just as he prepared to strike back, an indescribable pain pierced him.
In an instant, the world around him collapsed and shifted.
He opened his eyes through the haze and found himself still sitting on the coffin, having never moved.
He had already fallen for their attack.
Looking down, he saw that the monster's iron spike had pierced his body.
And that was only the beginning.
The next second, the spike burst open.
Dozens of thick iron spikes erupted outward through his chest, back, abdomen, shoulders, and other parts of his body.
The bloodstained, twisted spikes formed a hideous instrument of torture, pinning Dante firmly in place.
Agonizing pain tore at his mind.
But Dante could endure pain.
The real problem was the strange power carried by the spikes.
He felt his thoughts growing muddled.
Everything around him began to warp.
His eyelids drooped beyond his control,