Barely a second after the echoes of his strike demolished the statue, Dante rolled in the air, hauling himself toward the next statue.
It was a crusader, and it was already swinging its massive stone sword toward him.
The crusader's blade carved through the air with a deafening roar, its edge glowing faintly with the blood-red sigils etched into its surface.
The force alone threatened to shear the very air in two, but Dante was faster.
He twisted midair, a streak of white light in the crimson haze, his sword meeting the crusader's blade in a cataclysmic clash.
The impact sent shockwaves rippling outward, the reverberation shaking the chamber.
"Too slow," Dante muttered, his voice cutting through the chaos.
His blade hummed with essence as the light shrouding his body and sword suddenly burst and propelled him in an instant.
He appeared behind the crusader, his weapon slicing clean through its torso with surgical precision.