Vergil kept fixated on Dante's movements; tunnel vision slowly taking over his sight. It was a miracle in itself that he was able to fend off the formless horrors that put him in such a state as well as stay conscious. However, the combination of adrenaline crash and being under the watchful eye of his brother, Vergil soon blacked out.

By the time Vergil came to, he was laid rigid on the leather couch under a scratchy wool blanket.

The sun shone through the west side of Dante's building, illuminating the dried blood covering the couch and himself. What day is it? The wounded devil tried to sit up but was promptly thrown back by waves of a pain comparable to acid traveling through his veins. He grimaced, tossing his head to the side and tightly closing his eyes. Vergil thought back to the night before, barely able to comprehend what had attacked him with such strength and ferocity. Was it his arrogance that set them off? Or the scent of Sparda's blood?

This being, whatever it was, did more than just inflict wounds. He gingerly lifted the blanket and was revolted at what he saw; covering his body was not only bandages, but pulsing, infected symbols that seemed to shift every time he took a breath. He took in a sharp breath, a surge of panic causing him to curse under his breath. His mind traveled to Dante- where was he? Did his younger brother know what type of curse this was?

"Yamato" He breathed, reaching out his hand for the katana to come. Although he felt it's presence- somewhere- it was unable to travel to him. Running a hand through his frosty hair, he tried to sit up again, biting through the pain and managing to balance with great difficulty on the edge of the couch. His head was spinning, and rose slowly.

He needed to find Dante.