“Another one?” Dante raised his chin, eyeing Isabel’s sword in hand, making him all jumpy and ecstatic. “Another friend to defeat, Zul? Oh, they just keep coming!”
“Mm… I’ve heard a lot about you,” Isabel’s disgusted tone really struck a chord with the Shadow Icelord.
His head tilted, mumbling a groan of satisfaction. “Heard about me? My reputation extends to the Mainland. Oh, I am flattered. Shall I dare introduce myself? Shall I dare announce the name of the greatest swordsman on this side of Jaihara?” He turned to his pawns beside him. “Shall I men?”
“Yes, sir!” they said in unison.
“Say it loud, men! Say it loud!"
“Danterius!”
“Again, men! Again!”
“Danterius!”
“Yes!” He vigorously shouted, using all of the wind in his lungs. “Danterius!” He laughed with a raspy, sand-paper-like voice, “That’s right! I’m unstoppable, you know. Just one man, sword in hand and hair waving in the wind, you two shall fall by my hands.”
“You’re just one man,” Isabel started, “one man that hasn’t fought the General of all of Ra’Sasha. You’re way over your head.”
“Ah,” Dante grabbed his chest, “way over my head! Oh, how foolish of me. Two of you, one of me,” his voice waned, “how can I stand up to such a threat? Such a menacing—oh!” He paused, “I know.” Then, from the bellows of his stomach, he deepened the words, “What if there were two?” An insane spark glistened in his eyes as he raised his arms. “Double,” he declared, “let there be a temporary tie on the greatest swordsman, for there shall be two!”
The artist dropped his pallet—not to the floor—instead, conjuring a blade identical to his master.