Liurnia of the Lakes – Schoolhouse Classroom – Midnight
"Unghh…."
The maiden grumbled as she got up, stirred awake by a loud series of explosions in the rooms above. The bookshelves stirred every time the ground shook, freeing the books from their dusty cloaks with every tremor. She had no clue how much time had passed, but her state of disorientation alerted her that she may have been unconscious for much longer than she would have liked. Piles of books were neatly arranged all around the library's many shelves, the dusty tomes each offering a window into the secrets offered by the stars. Though not trained in the ways of sorcery, Melina knew the gist of the practice. From the few sorcerers she had encountered throughout the Lands, many employed the use of several projectiles of varying shapes and sizes. Rather than using a seal to invoke their spells, sorcerers often used staves as catalysts to focus their energies.
Up until recently, her traveling companion preferred to use a different form of energy altogether from anything she had ever encountered. Though his constructs and projectiles greatly resembled those used by glintstone sorcerers, it seemed as though they were derived from something entirely foreign to the Lands Between. Unlike sorceries and incantations, he wasn't so much calling upon an external power as he was summoning it from within himself—a feat she hitherto thought was only possible through Great Runes. Yet here he was, nursing what appears to be a debilitating curse, yet still able to singlehandedly eradicate armies and slay all manner of beasts. It was true that the power of runes helped to strengthen him, but that hardly explained why he was able to recover from wounds without needing to rely on crimson flasks or the inhuman way he was able to fight—especially when wielding his weapon of choice.
As of late, however, her companion has appeared more secretive, distant, and irritable. Since she met him, she knew that something was amiss. It was immediately clear that Vergil was no mere Tarnished, but it was also clear that like so many she had encountered, he was on the verge of death when she first saw him in the Stranded Graveyard. At first, she attributed his initial weakness to the same burden that plagued all other Tarnished: mortality. However, she was quickly proven wrong when she first saw him fight. The more she infused him with runes, the smoother and faster his movements became. None of this was surprising, but what always caught her off-guard was that despite all this, some things always caused her companion a great deal of pain. Like a river stunted by a dam, Vergil appeared far mightier than any demigod she had ever known. He'd try, often in vain, to call upon his ungodly power, only for it to turn on him every time. He tried to hide it, and at times Melina was convinced that he was starting to overcome his condition, but she knew that it was always waiting beneath the surface. The more runes he took on, the more resilient his body became—but that all changed once the dam burst.
Now it was clear to her that he had been concealing his burden. For what reason, she could not think of, but if this was him weakened…what could he possibly do once he fully unlocks his potential? Could he challenge the gods themselves? What if he obtains the Great Runes? Whatever the case, she had to ensure his success. Rot and decay had been spreading in the Lands long before the Scarlet Rot started to take hold, for the world had been cursed with a slow, painful death since Marika sealed Destined Death.
Surely, the irony was not lost on her.
The ailing maiden's thoughts were once again rattled by the irregular rumbling that shook the very foundations of the building she currently inhabited.
What in the Lands is happening up there?
The walls were scorched by hundreds of tiny spears and tiny fragments of magic shrapnel. A great red wolf panted with exhaustion, swinging his neck in a sweeping motion whilst simultaneously conjuring a large sword constructed out of flame. His opponent jumped over the slice and made a short kick jump over the wolf's snout, angering it even more. By the time the wolf noticed, his opponent had already waved his oddly shaped staff and conjured a glintstone comet. The wolf jumped backward, firing one of his own using his mouth. Both projectiles clashed and cancelled each other out and disappeared in a cloud of starry smoke. The wolf raised his head and jumped to the side, summoning several Carian swords which the swordsman countered by summoning his own volley arranged in a protective arc. The ethereal blades exploded into blue fragments each time they clashed, while the ones that failed to land were quickly dispatched by casual flicks of the swordsman's scabbard. In a desperate attempt to finally end the tiresome skirmish, the wolf lunged towards the swordsman's throat, seeking to rip it out. However, the swordsman saw through this attempt and swatted him away, following up with a swift uppercut that left the wolf reeling in pain. Tired and weak as he was, he could not let this intruder reach his master, for she was in no shape to protect herself. And so, with his remaining energy, the wolf lunged twice, missing each time, and then summoning his flaming blade for a sweeping slash.
"That's enough!"
The swordsman yelled as he dropped into a low stance, narrowly dodging the ferocious swipe of the wolf's massive blade. He sheathed his sword with deliberate calm, then closed his eyes for a moment, summoning the boundless energy of the stars that coursed through his veins. As he exhaled slowly, a faint blue light began to envelop the hilt, traveling up the blade until it shone with a soft, ethereal glow.
The Red Wolf of Radagon lunged, jaws snapping, but the swordsman moved with deadly precision. In a flash, he drew his blade, and a brilliant blue crescent of light sliced through the air, striking the wolf squarely in the skull. The impact sent a ripple through the wolf's massive frame, and in an instant, it collapsed to the side, its life extinguished.
The swordsman remained still as the dust settled, his posture relaxed but ready. The crimson wolf, once a formidable foe, lay lifeless at his feet. With a deft flick of his wrist, the swordsman wiped the blood from his slender blade, watching the dark droplets scatter across the stone floor. It was a practiced motion, one he'd done countless times before—each time marking the end of another battle.
The pale blue light slowly faded from the blade as the swordsman turned his gaze toward the misty academy, his thoughts already shifting to the next challenge that awaited him. The Red Wolf's final breath was just another step on a path paved with conflict, but he was ready for whatever lay ahead. His journey continued, his blade a constant companion, and the echoes of battle his relentless chorus.
Liurnia of the Lakes – Debate Parlor – Early Morning
The kindling maiden felt her companion's beckoning call, whisking her away into a new location. What once was a theatre used for lectures and debates had turned into a warzone ripped apart by sorcery and scorched by its guardian's sword. Vergil only meant to refill his flasks using the site of grace, but his companion materialized as soon as he felt its familiar warmth.
"What in Marika's name happened?"
"A mongrel needed to be put down. I merely used it to practice the new spells I've learned so far."
"I meant with you. Your face…"
"I'm fine."
"It did not seem that way when we last—"
"I'm fine."
"Perhaps you should rest for a moment."
"Foolishness. Was it not you that wished for me to seek after the so-called Great Runes? There should be one here from what little I've gathered from the archives."
"That is true, but in your state, you might—"
"I can still fight."
"It appears we are at an impasse, my friend. However, I cannot allow you to carry on as you are. Allow me to strengthen you, at the very least."
"Very well…but make haste. I do not wish to tarry for much longer."
The maiden proceeded to recite her well-practiced chant as she held her companion's hands. A resonant glow engulfed the two as runes coalesced and flowed into Vergil. For her part, Melina was slightly relieved. Her companion would never admit to it, but she knew that he had to be grateful on some level. For reasons that remained yet unknown, the fearsome warrior had stopped relying on his otherworldly power. The fact that the same power appeared to be tearing his body to shreds did not escape the kindling maiden. Though Vergil tended to prioritize dexterity and intellect above all other aspects, Melina saw it fit to improve upon his vigour.
Perhaps this will help relieve the malady that besets him.
The blue devil motioned to leave as soon as the golden light started to dim. It was clear that Melina had done something different with this ceremony. He could not explain it, but he felt somewhat lighter even as demonic power continued to escape from the cracks in his skin.
With most of the sorcerers taken care of, the adjacent courtyard proved to be rather barren save for the Abductor Virgin wandering about. Vergil cracked his neck as he summoned a glintblade near the contraption's "head" to catch its attention. Said contraption slightly recoiled then turned its attention towards the intruder. Its gears shifted and spun, letting out a metallic groan as its spherical base dragged through worn cobblestones. It spun with a hefty weight, firing off one of the chain sickles that comprised its arms. The blue devil dodged and quickly rolled after the machine started retrieving its chain arm. A series of sparks corresponded to the devil's wide slashes; each arc accompanied by a pale blue light. Before the automaton could fully retrieve its appendage, it opened its central compartment, revealing tree-like limbs that emerged from a crimson mist. Vergil jumped backward, realizing that the mist was some kind of anesthetic as he caught a small whiff of the substance. He could feel its immediate effects when his movements felt slightly more sluggish. With a frustrated grunt, the blue devil slashed the machine's internal limbs, cracking the metallic arms and forcing it to shut its torso.
The machine spun around, loosening the heavy chains of its outer arms in a futile attempt to create distance—a distance that the blue devil refused to give it. He dashed forward, slashed at the sickles, and swatted one away such that the blade was stuck to the ground like an anchor while using the second blade's momentum to hurl it toward the Abductor Virgin's "head." The machine groaned in rusted agony while its gears whirred and spun. To Vergil's surprise, the machine continued to function as its central chamber started to rattle open. As soon as it did so, Vergil noticed a writhing mass of serpents slithering about. He held his breath, dug his heels into the ground, and assumed a low stance. Before the serpents could lunge at him, he unleashed a flurry of slashes so rapidly that it dispersed the red mist and eviscerated the serpents, finally putting an end to the troublesome contraption.
Serpents…hm…
Vergil proceeded to journey through the academy rooftops, relieved that so few sorcerers were left to pick off at this point. The few stragglers he managed to encounter were easily dispatched; the same could be said of the marionettes which he dismantled in especially brutal fashion. Just as he slashed one open, a faint whisper began to ring in his ears.
"You seem to dislike those puppets. Why is that?"
"They bring up rather…unpleasant memories."
"I…see…"
The maiden trailed off, and her companion refused to elaborate. Perhaps he would speak of it later, but something told her that he more than likely wouldn't.
Vergil continued hopping through the rooves and noticed what looked to be a series of winged statues perched upon the edges of overlooking spires. They sat still, but from the way the light reflected off their spear tips, he could tell that they were no mere decoration. He threw a crystal dart toward one, clipping its wing and causing it to fall off the tower. As soon as it landed, it erratically spun in a spinning frenzy of blades and sharp limbs. This also signaled the rest to descend as their ruse had been uncovered.
"Tch"
Seeing them as little more than a distraction, Vergil took a small sip from his cerulean flask and dashed forward. The spectral blade he summoned from his staff pulsed in and out of existence as he slashed through the opposition. Where one fell, another would take its place. With his back turned, a stray avian marionette saw an opportunity to strike, only to be caught mid-leap by the swordsman's slender blade. With both swords in hand, the blue devil continued to dash forward while swinging steel and sorcery, culminating in a spinning slash that finally silenced his foes. Vergil dismissed the spectral blade by returning his staff to its latch, followed by sheathing his katana with a satisfying click.
Vergil climbed through labyrinthine walkways and rooftops, his footsteps echoing as he navigated a series of ladders and winding passageways. The journey felt like it was leading him through a hidden world, away from the broader academy grounds. He eventually arrived at an expansive chamber, its ceiling adorned with a series of grand chandeliers. Vergil's eyes traced the shimmering fixtures before he continued onward, balancing carefully on the rafters above. Each step caused the platforms beneath him to creak and sway, but he moved with a practiced ease, leaping down from one platform to the next.
As he descended, he stumbled upon a lifeless sorcerer, a crumpled figure in faded robes. Clutched in the dead sorcerer's hand was an Academy Key, glimmering faintly in the dim light. Vergil huffed at the absurdity of finding yet another key, given that he no longer needed one, but tucked it away in his pocket regardless.
He then noticed a number of hanging cages, suspended from the ceiling by thick chains. Each cage was empty and swinging gently as if moved by unseen drafts. The scene felt eerily quiet as if the space had been abandoned for years. But then he recognized his surroundings, realizing he had just made a full loop, and ended up back where he started.
Shaking his head in mild frustration, Vergil closed his eyes and envisioned the Debate Parlour from earlier in his journey. The familiar blue mist surrounded him, and when he opened his eyes again, he had reappeared in the parlour. With a soft sigh, he stepped forward, his thoughts already shifting to the next challenge that awaited him. "Always taking the long way around," he mused to himself, casting a glance over his shoulder before venturing deeper into the academy's maze.
Vergil strolled across the open courtyard toward a broken staircase, his steps echoing against the stone. Everything seemed calm until the sudden sound of a portal opening sliced through the quiet. He stopped in his tracks, watching as a massive iron ball shot out from the shimmering portal, barreling toward him with reckless speed. It ricocheted off the stone guardrails, leaving cracks and dents where it made an impact, but its chaotic pattern made it predictable.
"What the hell is this?" he muttered, raising an eyebrow at the absurdity of the situation. The iron ball careened wildly, yet missed him by a good margin, crashing down the staircase with a heavy thud. As Vergil shook his head, another iron sphere emerged from the portal, following a similarly erratic trajectory. It too careened down the steps, narrowly missing him.
The scene felt like a parody of a trap—clumsy and exaggerated. Vergil noticed the crushed bones and scraps of fabric littering the pathway, evidence of the trap's lethal efficiency against those less aware or fortunate. But for him, it was just a minor inconvenience. Rolling his eyes, he resumed his casual stroll up the stairway, barely needing to dodge the crude iron spheres. They tumbled and crashed around him, creating a cacophony of clanging, and grinding metal, but his steps remained calm and steady.
He continued to climb, not even bothering to look back as another iron ball fell to its doom. "If this is the best they've got," he mused to himself, "this place is going to be even easier to clear than I thought."
When he reached the top, he was met with three doorways, one of which led to a sending gate while another led to a ladder, where three terrified sorcerers were accompanied by a hulking Mad Pumpkin Head. The sorcerers practically clung to the corner bookshelves until they found the gumption to start casting spells, believing that they stood a ghost of a chance with their large companion taking most of the swordsman's attention. Vergil dodged their attacks from side to side, with smooth yet restrained movements, making as little noise as possible. When he waved his staff, they were perplexed at the lack of projectiles coming their way until they realized the glintstone blades were aimed behind the large gladiator. Though their faces were covered in their stone masks, one could tell the look of horror on their face as the mad soldier directed its attention towards them, and their opponent jumped back down to whence he came.
Vergil dusted off his shoulders as he strode down the path, finding himself stopped by a knight clad in heavy armour. The intricate etchings and shining embellishments indicated that this was no ordinary guard, but a seasoned warrior. Cracking his neck, Vergil flicked a sliver of his katana from his sheath while he continued to walk forward, a sharp metallic whisper cutting through the silence; his eyes fixed on his opponent.
The knight, wary of the intruder who had left a trail of death and destruction through the academy, lifted his shield and assumed a defensive stance. With a firm and resolute tone, he began to speak.
"Stand down. You will come no closer, interloper! I know what it is you seek, and you shall not take it."
"Hmph, you think you stand a chance?"
Vergil's voice was laced with a mocking confidence that greatly irked the knight.
"Chance will have naught to do with it by the time I'm done with you."
The knight's eyes narrowed through the slits of his helmet, his hands tightly gripping on the hilt of his sword.
Vergil lips curled into a smirk as the air grew thick with anticipation. But a third voice seemed to break through the silence, soft yet urgent.
"Don't underestimate him. He looks to be one of the remaining Carian Knights, formidable warriors who— "
Vergil shook his hand dismissively and assumed a fighting stance, his playful tone shifting to that of impatience.
"Spare me the lesson for now, girl. You're in my way."
The voice hesitated, then meekly responded.
"…Understood."
The armoured warrior raised his voice, barking with frustration.
"Who are you to lay waste to our academy? I ask you once more, stand down! Upon my life, I will not let any harm come to Lady Rennala."
Vergil paused, considering the knight's words, the solemnity of his vow. He'd heard such declarations before—loyalty, duty, honor—but they always ended the same way, with blood and steel. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he remembered a line from William Blake's work that had lodged itself in his memory. Even though he hadn't opened a book in decades, his mind could still summon those words effortlessly.
"Drive your cart and plow over the bones of the dead," Vergil replied, his voice low but resonant. The knight blinked in confusion, clearly not expecting such words from an enemy who had just stormed through his academy. But Vergil's tone carried an unsettling conviction, one that suggested he wasn't here to play games.
The knight gripped his shield tighter, his knuckles whitening with tension. "You speak in riddles. But know this, if you persist, it will be over my dead body."
Vergil chuckled, the sound dry and cold. "So be it," he said, shifting his stance. "It's been a while since I've had a proper challenge. Let's see if you can live up to those words."
The knight gripped his sword and leaped into the air, descending with ferocious might. But Vergil saw through the attack and deflected the blade with a sharp clang as cold steel struck his wooden scabbard. In one smooth motion, he smashed his sword's pommel into the knight's torso. The force of the blow sent the knight skidding backward, clutching his chest in pain. It was then that he realized the intruder's brutal strength, as his armour had been dented where he had just been struck. He slashed at the air in anger and from his motion, a blue light started to shine from the crystal embedded in his blade. The light enshrouded the blade with its pale glow, extending its reach to one that matched his fury.
Vergil instinctively reacted, summoning a magical sword from the tip of his staff just in time to deflect the incoming strike. His blade, ethereal and shimmering, met the translucent blue of the knight's conjured weapon with a resounding clash. Sparks erupted in the air as the two forces met, scattering like shards of shattered stars.
The moment their swords disengaged, the air sizzled with energy, and the clashing resumed with erratic, ferocious clangs. Despite the massive size of his weapon, the knight wielded it with a precision that belied its heft. Each swing was deliberate, each parry calculated, the movements of a warrior who had honed his craft through countless lifetimes of war and struggle.
Vergil's mind flashed back to his brother Dante, whose fighting style was similarly flamboyant but with a raw, untamed edge. This knight, however, fought with the composed grace of a master. His strikes were like a dance, fluid yet deadly, every move strategically placed. Vergil's grin grew wider with each clash—this was a test of skill and focus, a duel that demanded his utmost attention.
The clang of steel against magic filled the room, echoing off the walls. Vergil felt the adrenaline surge through him, his senses sharpening with each blow. This battle wasn't just about strength—it was a game of wits, a test of reflexes, and he relished the challenge.
With a swift motion of his staff, Vergil conjured a trifecta of ethereal blades that shot toward the knight in a blinding flash. The knight deftly sidestepped two of the projectiles, then raised his shield to deflect the third. As the ethereal blade struck the shield, a burst of blue light erupted, enveloping the shield in a shimmering aura.
The blue field expanded and coalesced into three massive floating greatswords, their edges glowing with cold, spectral energy. Each sword hovered ominously in the air, aimed directly at Vergil, ready to strike. The knight's shield pulsed with the same blue energy, feeding the spectral blades as they vibrated with lethal potential.
"Interesting…" Vergil muttered as he tightened his grip on his staff, eyeing the greatswords as they hovered, calculating their trajectory and the precise moment they'd be unleashed. This was no ordinary defensive maneuver—these conjured blades were infused with potent magic; a reflection of the knight's formidable skill.
As the three spectral swords began to move, their aura casting eerie shadows across the floor, Vergil prepared himself for a rapid, high-stakes counterattack. The air was thick with tension, and the clash to come promised to be as swift as it was deadly.
When the spectral swords shot forward, Vergil reacted with sharp precision, ducking and weaving to avoid their path. He deflected one with his own shimmering blade, the clash echoing through the chamber, while he fired crystal darts with his free hand to distract the knight. The knight quickly raised his shield to block the darts, the magical barrier humming with power. This gave Vergil just the opening he needed.
He dashed forward, his movements swift and silent, his blade poised to strike. But the knight anticipated his approach, parrying Vergil's attack with a swift counter and, in a fluid motion, drove his sword deep into Vergil's torso. The blade punctured through with a sickening thud, and blood erupted from the wound, staining his clothes and dripping onto the stone floor.
For a moment, Vergil stood there, eyes widening at the unexpected turn of events. He felt the searing pain, yet it was almost drowned out by the irony of the situation. A memory from the past flashed through his mind—a memory of him stabbing his foolish brother atop a demonic tower. The absurdity of finding himself on the receiving end of a similar blow struck him as both cruel and darkly humorous.
He couldn't help but laugh, a low, gritty sound that carried through the hall. It was a laugh born of surprise, perhaps even admiration for the knight's skill and timing. Vergil's laughter echoed around the room, each chuckle resonating with a mixture of pain and grim nostalgia. It was a twisted reminder that the roles could change in an instant, and in this battle, there were no guarantees.
The knight yanked his blade free from Vergil's torso, the sudden force causing the intruder's body to crumple to the ground. Blood pooled beneath him, dark crimson rivers that spread across the cold stone floor. The knight stepped back, seemingly content with his victory, the weight of the battle's climax lifting from his shoulders.
As the knight turned away, thinking the skirmish over, Vergil's body twitched, then stirred. His laughter started low, an eerie mixture of surprise and admiration, then grew louder. Determination blazed in his eyes, slicing through the pain like a dagger as his wounds had mysteriously vanished. The knight, sensing something was wrong, turned back, only to see Vergil pulling himself upright, his fingers digging into the ground for support. The laughter stopped as quickly as it began, replaced with an unsettling calmness.
The air around Vergil crackled with dark energy, swirling like a storm, the once-lighthearted wanderer now transformed into a fearsome demon. The knight's confident expression faltered, his shield trembling ever so slightly as Vergil's steely gaze locked onto him. This was no longer a game; it was a fight for survival.
Vergil's grin was thin and devoid of warmth. "Thank you for that," he said, his voice dripping with venom. "Now I shall give you death in return."
The summoned blade in Vergil's hand reappeared, but this time it pulsed with a darker, more intense purple energy. His stance was low and feral, his body coiled to strike. His eyes bore into the knight with the intensity of a predator stalking its prey. The air grew thick with tension, the crackling energy around Vergil becoming almost palpable. He was ready to unleash hell.
The knight shifted his weight, preparing for the next onslaught, but the resolve in Vergil's stance told him that this battle was far from over—and this time, Vergil would not be playing around. He would show the knight the true meaning of fury, the cost of underestimating his enemy. The final confrontation had begun, and Vergil had no intention of letting the knight leave the battlefield unscathed.