The night quickly fell upon the Lands Between. Knowing only of the vague calling of "grace," the once-fallen warrior wandered through the seemingly endless countryside, meeting and dispatching a small caravan of soldiers, and securing an undamaged Estoc for him to use. Based on the hours since he awoke, he indisputably concluded that he was neither lost in time nor was he in a pocket dimension contained within the demon world. Either that or Mundus' illusions were becoming extremely elaborate.

In his obsessive search for answers surrounding his vanished father, Vergil had come across many tales and even more tomes—some outlandish but true; others seemingly grounded upon reality yet somehow found wanting. Many of these tales revolved around the separation of the demon and human worlds after Sparda's crusade against his kind. Parsing through the texts took an eternity of time and effort, especially when one was always on the lookout against scores of Mundus' underlings…and the occasional stray looking to prove their might against Sparda's kin. Not wanting to lose his edge both physically and mentally, Vergil spent years mastering his discipline while learning what he could about both worlds. Although nothing would ever bring him solace from the night his family was besieged, the insightful words of a certain poet always brought him some semblance of peace, fleeting as the moments were.

Yet despite the archives of knowledge Vergil had gained, nothing he scoured over the years remotely matched the sights he saw before him. From the gigantic crustaceans that seemed to dominate shallow lakebeds, to the boundless golden tree that seemed to eclipse the sun itself, Vergil was almost convinced he'd fallen asleep reading a fantasy novel. He could not help but curb his incredulity when an aged warrior, clad in heavily worn ronin garb and a questionably large Iron Kasa, cautioned him about a dragon presiding over the burnt ruins a stone's throw away. Not one to refuse a challenge, the demonic warrior doffed the tattered cloak he'd pilfered from an enemy camp and readied his blade. While his physical movements were frustratingly slow and his magic painfully limited, Vergil found that he still possessed enough mettle to survive in this strange land. Seeing the great beast fly towards him sent a fresh shiver of excitement upon the warrior, who could feel a boundless force welling up from within. As always, he waited until the most opportune moment before he made his move.

With a booming roar, the dragon readied its talons and thrust forward, barely missing its target by a hair. Having anticipated the beast's movements, Vergil deftly readied his blade and struck at the dragon's underbelly just before it landed. The beast's hide was as resilient as the demon expected, and so he used the momentum from its charge to further the blade into its torso. However, the beast was not one to fall to a single strike. It swept its tail across as it howled in pain, knocking the swordsman off his feet. Though the demon expected the dragon to be as hardy as the legends foretold, he underestimated the weakness that still lay in his body. He tumbled backward across the lakebed, catching all manner of moss and debris. Wiping his face off the muck that now covered it, the ashen-haired warrior could not help but smile.

"Now I'm a little motivated!"

His body may have been weak, and his enemy barely stronger and faster than demonic fodder, but for the first time since his duel with his brazen twin, Vergil felt a challenge. The beast moved with deliberate intent—far more intelligent than anything he'd faced so far, and sharper than the masses of whelps regularly thrown at him by the demon world. When it bit, it used its body's size and momentum to boost a follow-up swing of its spike-covered tail. When it backed away, it knocked over surrounding trees to act as cover. And when it flew, it did so in short bursts so as to maintain its distance. Skidding across flooded plains, the dragon whipped its head backward, a litany of flames escaping from its mouth as it readied its next attack. Large jets of fire erupted from the dragon's maw as it swept its neck from side to side, following the swordsman's movements. Whatever creatures remained in the surroundings instantly fell prey to the merciless barrage of draconic flame that the incensed dragon unleashed. Vergil knew that to slay this beast, he would have to be close, and so he taunted it, slashing at the webbed fringes of the dragon's leathery wings. In reply it lunged forward, giving the swordsman yet another opportunity to thrust the sword into its thick hide.

Little fly,
thy summer's play
My thoughtless hand
Has brushed away.

Pulling the blade out as his target bellowed its frustration, Vergil made quick work of its ankles, slashing repeatedly at the same precise spots—this became much easier the more its tough hide was weakened and stripped. The dragon stomped its feet in reply, deepening the wounds and shattering its ankles. It collapsed into the ground, barely held aloft by its mighty wings until they too fell prey to exhaustion. Bloodied and beaten, the dragon defiantly made one last flap of its wings, sending it high into the sky once more. Its attempt would not last, for its wounds were too deep; too numerous. It crashed into the ground with a thundering blow, sending waves across the flooded plains.

Am I not
A fly like thee?

Waiting for where its head would land, the warrior struck a final blow.

Or art not thou
A man like me?

The beast exhaled, its body disintegrating into a fine mist, but leaving behind an intact, still-beating heart. The grotesque organ was covered in what appeared to be gravel stone, likening it to a moving statue more than a living thing. Taking notice of this strange new artifact, Vergil took hold of it and stored it in his travel pouch. The older warrior from earlier approached.

"Beautiful work, felling that dragon. And as such, there's something you might like to know."

Wishing to learn more about the artifact, Vergil intently listened.

"The heart you brought back. It's used in Dragon Communion. If you should find yourself overcome by hunger for the heart, yearning for its strength, then seek the decrepit church on the little island off the western coast."

The devil cocked his head to the side and stared at the beating heart he clutched in his hand.

"Not the most appetizing morsel, but I will keep that in mind."

The old man continued, the gravelly texture of his aged voice rivaling the stones that covered the heart.

"You must not forget, though. Those who partake in Dragon Communion will one day shed their humanity."

"You make it sound like that's a problem." Vergil scoffed. The old man paused in swift contemplation then continued,

"Their hunger for dragon, their yearning, only worsens. Until the floodgates burst, unleashing eternal torment." He sighed in reverence. "The strength of a mighty dragon. Magnificent, but deadly."

"That may be the case for those in your world, but you should come to realize that I am no mere human." The half-demon slicked his hair back as he walked away. "Soon you shall know this devil's power."

Finally, a way to bolster his strength had presented itself to him. No matter the state of his body or what world he was in, nothing would stop his pursuit of the one thing that gave his life purpose. Vergil passed by the flooded plains and gathered some scales shed by his fallen foe. Now that he had resolved to use more mundane armaments, he needed some way to maintain his blade's edge. As the aged warrior disappeared from view, Vergil remembered to take heed of the man's parting words:

"It's no surprise that Dragon Communion is ruinous."

Off to the distance, a faint golden light glowed in contrast to the shadows that enveloped the rocky terrain. With his flasks empty and his path clear of enemies, Vergil decided to take a short rest. Just like before, the site of grace refilled his flasks and filled his being with a comforting warmth. He stared at the light briefly, wondering about what power brought him to this land. He absentmindedly sharpened his sword using the dragon scales he'd collected when he felt a chill set off by an unfamiliar movement. Though the presence bore no malice as far as he could tell, he was never one to take chances. He turned towards the presence, blade at the ready.

"Reveal your true face if you do not wish to perish by my sword."

Materializing from a faint blue mist was a woman, her face obscured, whose entire body was shrouded in a long black cloak.

"Greetings. Traveler from beyond the Fog."

Vergil immediately recognized her voice as the same one that found him half-submerged in the mausoleum.

"I am Melina."

She knelt closer and pulled back her hood, revealing a crown of salmon-grey hair. Her left eye was scarred shut with a peculiar claw mark seal, while her remaining eye flickered with a similar shade of gold as the grace that granted him relief in his travels.

"I offer you an accord."