"Leave me and go, if you don't want to be trapped in the Demon World."

Arms barely stretched, Yamato was aimed towards his brother. Despite Vergil's attempt to maintain composure, his body betrayed him and let out a lingering groan. It had been mere moments since his defeat when he clutched the precious amulet given to him by his mother. A sharp pain screamed through his chest where Rebellion had just sliced through, however that was of little consequence at present. The portal was closing, and with it came Vergil's desire to stay in the world that had spurned him time and again. The sound of the rapids rushing around the twins did little to muffle the finality of his speech.

"I'm staying, this place was our father's home."

Vergil stumbled backwards and fell, ignoring the pain as he did so. His brother, as expected, tried reaching out, only to have his hand cut—a final parting gift before darkness separated the two brothers once more. In time, the only thing Vergil could hear was the sound of the water rushing into the void. It was then that he finally let his weariness take hold.

Vergil eventually hit the ground with a loud splash. Time and space worked differently in the demon world, and one could never anticipate where it would lead. While most waterfalls inevitably lead to a pool of water in the human world, one would be foolish to expect the same in the demons' realm. Though Vergil braced himself, he could not anticipate exactly how much the impact would affect him. Falls like this were not uncommon for the half-demon. In fact, he'd tried many times from childhood to jump from tall structures—sometimes to test his body's resilience, and sometimes for darker, more self-destructive reasons. Thanks to his demonic heritage, he was never any worse for wear. This time, the fall only served to draw more attention to Vergil's wounds.

A demon's natural resilience served Vergil well on his travels, for he found that his wounds would often close as fast as they could be pierced. Were it not for this ability, Dante's final strike with the Rebellion would have surely bisected the blue devil. However, this resilience did not account for the pain that he could still feel throughout the injury, and how draining it was to heal from its effects. Vergil heaved, trying to maintain composure even in his obvious state of weakness. Exhaustion gripped him even as he used Yamato's scabbard to push himself off the "ground." Vergil groaned, taking in the surroundings where he stood in a solid pool of blood. Broken stone pillars and discarded statues surrounded him. They reflected into the sky, where the silhouettes of hundreds of broken structures hung about, nearly concealed by a plume of unending darkness. At the centre of the seemingly endless void were three glowing eyes, crackling with a malicious crimson energy. Vergil scoffed as he looked towards the figure.

"It'll be fun to fight with the Prince of Darkness."

In an instant, exhaustion gave way to excitement and a renewed, if foolish, sense of motivation.

"If my father did it, I should be able to do it too!"

With renewed vigour, Vergil drew the Yamato, the demonic edge piercing through the darkness and reflecting the excitement of its wielder. Its scabbard discarded, Vergil swiftly yet clumsily rushed forward towards the three crackling dots that loomed over him. He let out a warrior's battle cry, not caring about the outcome, yet still eager to prove his might.

The distant sound of water droplets awoke the fallen warrior as he snapped from his reverie. He had been half-submerged in a pool of water, an irksome yet expected outcome after the ground collapsed following his battle with the grafted scion. Broken pieces of the black angel's armour still loosely clung to his unyielding flesh as his body screamed for release. Yet Vergil's attention was drawn towards the sound of footsteps approaching him through the water. He listened intently at what sounded like a horse, shifting his position to vaguely see who or what was approaching, yet still looked vulnerable to any outsider lest he lose the element of surprise. In his current state, he could not risk an altercation in case the horse had a rider. Sure enough, he heard the voice of the maiden.

"Don't worry Torrent, fortune is on his side."

The horse's hooves paced impatiently as if to contain its excitement.

"We found him here, after all."

The woman stepped off and knelt towards the half-demon. Through his peripheral vision, Vergil could barely make out her features as they were concealed by a long cloak—not unlike the sort he would often use throughout his travels.

"One of his kind is sure to seek the Elden Ring."

What is this ring she speaks of?

"…Even if it does violate the Golden Order…"

A low sound thrummed through the air and dismissed itself as quickly as it appeared. With it, both horse and maiden had disappeared.

How curious…

Vergil once again pushed himself up, finding it ever so slightly easier to move he freed himself from the Black Angel's armour. More than annoyance, the mere sight of the damned suit filled him with visions of dread and misery. For it was in this suit that he was enslaved by the demon king Mundus, forced to be a puppet for what felt like eons. It was a grim reminder of what he had lost. The trauma was still too fresh for the half-demon and he pushed it to the back of his mind, once again opting for the one pursuit that gave his life meaning and purpose—power. Vergil instinctively clenched his left hand and immediately felt the absence of a loyal companion. Yamato had been with Vergil for as long as he had been alive. It was entrusted to him by his father—a keepsake to protect the humans should he one day fall.

Humans…for what purpose would father wish to protect such pitiful creatures?

That he was half-human himself was an irony not lost on Vergil. It was a weakness he wished he could carve out—a weakness that had accompanied him since that fateful day in Redgrave City. A weakness that Mundus taunted him with every chance he had. Vergil could still feel the heat of the flames that consumed his home, destroyed his family, and put a decisive end to his childhood innocence. Constantly haunted by the sight of his mother's corpse, burnt and maimed as it was, Vergil resisted the urge to vomit—a reaction that was far more than physical at this point. Yamato's absence scratched at Vergil's mind like a phantom limb, giving way to a dull ache in his left hand. Though the wound had healed long ago, Vergil could never forget how it felt to be denied help as a child…to have that very same hand pierced by a demon's sword.

The once esteemed Sparda manor was set ablaze.

"Dante! Mama!..."

A wounded child crawled on the ground. A myriad of demons around him, taunting his weakness after stabbing him time and again.

"It hurts, it hurts, it hurts!"

The child cried out. He undoubtedly suffered countless injuries sparring with Dante, and especially during his training sessions with his father, but nothing compared to the misery that beset him.

"Someone…someone…someone!"

Throughout it all, the child could not help but think of his mother and brother. Blood pooled around the boy's body until the demons were seemingly satisfied, leaving him to march towards the burning estate.

"No one..."

The child huffed.

"I can't seek anyone for help…"

He pushed his body, ignoring its screams to just rest. Still, the demons kept marching forward.

"I, have to make it through somehow."

The boy's wounds started to rapidly close as he reached forward, left hand dragging the weight of his broken body.

"I need…"

A familiar energy surged around him, manifesting into his most trusted ally.

"power…"

The child looked in wonder at the blade that presented itself to him.

"Yamato?"

There was no time to think. In an instant, the demons were vanquished—their inhuman shells sliced beyond recognition.

"…That's right…"

Nearby demons took notice and began to attack, only to be met with cold steel vibrating with the fury of its wielder.

"I'll do this…alone."

The child slaughtered the assailing demons until none were left. He ran towards the house and noticed the blood and the slaughter before him. There his mother's corpse lay, sliced open and broken, her blood splattered on the walls. The fire continued to burn all around; Dante was nowhere to be found. Vergil's tears fell as the conflagration raged on; the heat so overwhelming that they quickly dried up before they could touch his cheeks. Clutching harder on Yamato's scabbard, Vergil walked away in silence.

Now that he was free of Mundus' control, Vergil could no longer escape the nightmares that plagued him—a once proud warrior reduced to a broken puppet. He began to feel the doubts swirling in his thoughts, taunting him like those demons so long ago. Was he anything without Yamato? Could he have achieved anything without the blade? Just as the thoughts were starting to find purchase, Vergil noticed a pair of flasks that were laid before him. With how they were placed, Vergil surmised that the maiden had left them. Two flasks; one red and the other blue. Vergil could only grin at the coincidence. He was not one to try strange concoctions, but at present, his options were limited. If it was poisoned, then his body would undoubtedly heal through it in time. He warily sipped the blue flask, immediately feeling a noticeable effect on his magical reserves.

Interesting…

He ignored the unpleasant taste of the stale nectar and slowly sipped on the red flask. Its effects were just as instant as its counterpart, boosting his healing and restoring some of his vigour. He wiped the liquid from his mouth and looked onward, ignoring the pungent stench of rotting corpses and taking in the sight of the mausoleum where he now stood.