Because she was now a demon, she would be an immoral woman. She would sleep with Mundus, and seduce her sons. She would take her empty vessel, use her sexy human cover to entice and draw Vergil out.
It was incest. But she knew those with the love for demonic things and the occult loved this kind of thing. She didn't care about good things. She didn't care about love and all that stupid flowery bullshit. She thought they were for old grandmothers and dying grandfathers in old homes who wished to god they were good to their kids so that they may have died with a happy smile. She thought they were meant for the goody-goody people who thought that saving a small child was worth their time. She thought that giving to charity out of the goodness of their heart was worth something. It's all a bunch of bullshit.
Her dark soul cried for some semblance of understanding why these few people liked the good side of life. It was boring and mundane and not fun. Fun is for those who cheated, who manipulated others and pushed the weaker ones down into the mud. Those are the strong. Those are what she thought was the strongest, the survivors. She loved to see the wicked laughter of those who pushed the weaker ones so that the weaker ones would hide into their own shell. They became empty shells in the process.
For all she cared, they could all go to hell. And they did. Most of these people waited in line to get to hell. They did not care for beautiful things; they cared only for the wicked things that warped their perception.
They loved drugs, and loved the drink too much. They enjoyed smoking drugs and putting it inside their bodies. They loved debauchery. It was their high light to living. And dying.
She loved it when Mundus, after he had went inside her empty vessel, pounding furiously into her, making her feel nothing but pain and undeniable pleasure, shows her about a thing or two on mankind.
He hated her human shell, but it was worth all the more when he took her every night, relentless pounding into her, driving into her body so that she would stare out into the darkness. Her eyes were as black as her soul with only the blue there to show what she once had.
Mundus hated her so much he would drive her insane until all she could do was grovel: master yes, yes, I am yours. She was his vessel, and to humiliate Sparda. To humiliate what would represent all of mankind.
She was his.
"Look there, Trish. Look there."
He opened up what was called an oracle. A round television type of past, future and present receptacle, which allowed Trish to peer into the human world.
She looked. She looked hard.
She saw a man beating a boy to death. She saw how men could cheat their wives, leave them, give them no honor and leave the woman as empty vessels. She saw how those in schools picked on the other children, how they were not to their standards, or their 'color', or their following, or 'cool' as to be considered evil enough to be followed.
Yes, she saw what it meant to be powerful.
And she allowed Mundus to take her again. She didn't have what those poor souls who were picked on had: tears of pain and sorrow.
My son! Come save me!
Even as she turned her porcelain face towards the evil Underworld prince, she forgot Sparda. She forgot how much she had loved her sons. How can she remember? When all she had left was an empty soul.