Altus Plateau – Erdtree Gazing Hill – Early Morning
"How are your wounds, Millicent?" Melina asked, thoroughly refreshed after returning to the site of grace.
Though her limited power was restored with every return to a site of grace, Melina always felt like something was missing. Perhaps it was a side effect of her lacking a true physical form, or perhaps there was something else that she couldn't quite fathom. In either case, she realized that any conclusion she reached would be nothing more than speculation…at least until she could recover the missing fragments of her memory. With each step she took toward the Erdtree, and every site of grace restored, Melina could vaguely feel an invisible force guiding her. Perhaps it was her mother's way of lending aid even in her absence. There was no real way to tell aside from a mere feeling.
"The pain has largely stilled thanks to your assistance, Melina." Millicent replied, her face downcast after seeing the signs of damage Melina took the night before, "Though rather vexingly, I realize that if I still had my sword arm, I could have better aided you in battle."
"You fought well despite the lack of it. And I can say with full certainty that you've saved my life." Melina reassured.
Millicent sighed, her gaze drifting toward the stump where her arm used to be. "I suppose you're right, but it's just…. I feel like such a burden."
Melina placed a hand on Millicent's shoulder, her touch warm and soothing. "You are far from a burden…and one's value is not determined solely by the ability to fight. Besides…." Melina paused, grinning after cheekily taking a bite of rabbit meat. "You have more than proven your worth with this."
"So that's the true measure of my worth? My ability to catch and cook meat?" Millicent looked aghast, causing Melina to raise a worried eyebrow, then shortly let out a light chuckle, which immediately evaporated her tension and anxiety. "It would certainly have saved me the pain of learning to use a sword properly, that much is true, at least."
Melina licked her fingers heartily. Though the meat was no longer fresh, it still retained the juiciness and flavour it had when it was first roasted by a fire. "All of those damned stretches and bruises…ugh, if only it was possible to forget."
"And all the scars from a sparring session gone wrong."
"Ooh, and the number of times you narrowly escaped the loss of your fingers!"
"Well…" Millicent wiggled the stump of her missing arm. "I think that I'm well past that fear now."
Melina shook her head while laughing. "You have a point. But at least you still have a body."
"Surely you jest. I'm speaking with you right now." Millicent tilted her head quizzically.
Melina twirled around. As she did so, parts of her body dematerialized and reappeared with a cloud of blue mist that surrounded her. Millicent's shock was palpable.
"Huh…that does explain a few things." Millicent nodded, still trying to digest the information. "So then…how did you…?"
Melina sighed and shook her head. "I wish I knew, myself."
Mt. Gelmir – Prison Town Church – Late Evening
"Down you go!" Vergil grunted as he smashed his frayed blade on a Man-Serpent, which beheaded the slippery creature and sent its head rolling toward an Abductor Virgin. The automaton's gears whirred with a high-pitched screech as it leaned forward and activated the sawblades it had in place of arms. Each razor-sharp blade sparked through the paved cobblestone as it approached Vergil's location, but eventually ran into a problem—it could not reach the vantage point where its target stood. Vergil shook his head and jumped down, then slowly and deliberately pointed his blade toward the moving torture chamber.
"Come on!" Vergil cockily smirked as the machine reoriented itself to meet its intended victim.
Contrary to the manor's warm and welcoming appearance, the town it hid underneath was a testament to its master's unending cruelty. The sight of dried blood splatters and hundreds of hanging iron cages adorned every avenue, while the pungent smell of sulfur, volcanic ash, and burning flesh was apparent to the blue devil even before he stepped outside of the manor's premises. A small army of Man-Serpents guarded the rooftops, supported by a faction of living corpses and feral strays. Vergil shook the blood off his blade after severing the heads of the serpents nestled within the automaton, the machine having revealed its hand when it opened the central chamber to try and capture the pale swordsman.
Satisfied, Vergil jumped back onto the rooftops, scouting out and eliminating any threats that stood in his way by loosing a barrage of spectral swords from a distance. Peering down into the town centre, Vergil could spot several figures burnt at the stake. It was a practice not unfamiliar to him, though to finally see the barbaric practice outside of a book's description was a novelty that did not escape the warrior. He knew not what crimes the victims committed, but "heresy" stood out as a likely justification. Then again, the strong hardly needed a reason to prey upon the weak. The scorched remains that persisted near the pyres served as a warning for what would happen to anyone found guilty by the manor's infamous proprietor. Vergil pondered for a moment, realizing that his encounter with an Abductor Virgin was no coincidence and indicated that this town was the likely destination of those unfortunate enough to be captured by one. His suspicion was almost immediately confirmed when he saw the unfinished forms of these contraptions scattered about the town's bloodied alleyways.
Such cruelties hardly phased the son of Sparda, who had grown accustomed to how demonkind acted toward those they deemed inferior. To see that this behaviour was not limited to demons reaffirmed what the pale swordsman already believed about the state of any world he inhabited. Might, after all, controlled everything, and to the victor go the spoils. Vergil continued to descend the hellish landscape, noticing the stony structures that blended into magma pits and sunk further into occupied caverns. Many doors were left open, their wooden frames having been ripped out through time or struggle. At the same time, the rusted chains that barricaded some windows drew attention to the weary moans of prisoners desperately trying to find escape. Some were bolted onto the ceiling while others were fastened by scavenger's daughters—a medieval torture implement that Vergil never thought he would see in person—least of all in a world entirely separate from his own. As he passed by the town-sized dungeon, he could see a wide array of torture devices in each chamber—each growing progressively more depraved than the last.
Having long been driven to madness, these prisoners would try to attack on sight, a fatal error for those unfamiliar with the pale swordsman. Interestingly, the prisoners' blood had a silvery hue to it, which appeared quite unnatural. "Ah. So that's why." Vergil thought as he wiped the substance from his blade. "No difference at all, huh?" To him, it was all the more reason to continue his life's pursuit.
Mt. Gelmir – Volcano Manor – Late Evening
An unsettling chorus of noise unnerved the young serpent girl, whose chambers were placed right beside the guest quarters and across the Drawing Room. Trying to calm her nerves, Rya tried to tell herself that the strange sounds were from the rattling of weapons and armour, for the Volcano Manor was never in shortage of new champions searching for glory. There was always a fresh set of faces coming in regularly, after all, but they didn't usually stay at the manor for more than a month. Though it was a common occurrence, this always saddened the young girl. With her father constantly working to build his army, her mother was the only family that she had. Tanith had only ever shown Rya kindness and love, which made her believe that perhaps all the others would treat her the same way given time. None of them ever stayed long enough for that to happen, however. When asked, Rya's mother would respond with how some of them didn't "have the stones to defy the Erdtree," while others would eventually earn an audience with her father, where he would test them to see if they were worthy of joining his family of champions. The process was arduous, she was told, but regardless, it meant that she never spent much time with the recruits she brought in.
The idea of having a bigger family thrilled Rya, who had never known much about the outside world until recently. She had spent all her childhood with her mother, living lavishly with all the best that the Manor had to offer. There she heard tales of her father's bravery and ingenuity, and indeed she often saw this in practice whenever her father's contraptions roamed across the lands to keep them safe from harm. When she came of age, her mother taught her the ability to disguise her form as that of a human. She didn't understand the need for it at first but eventually listened. "People are cruel to those who don't look like them," her mother would say, "so you must try your best to blend in." The process was straightforward, especially with the help of veiling magic, but unlike her mother, Rya could never get used to assuming a human's proper posture. Eventually, her efforts were considered satisfactory, and Rya was permitted to scout out potential new candidates.
The clattering cacophony continued to disturb Rya's slumber, so she peered across the hall and saw how the knight Bernahl sparred against a bald recruit whom she found rather witty and charming. The masked knight had been allied with the family for some time, and based on her mother's accounts, the trusty warrior seemed to have a good relationship with her father before he went away. Relieved, Rya returned to her quarters. Hardly an hour passed when Rya heard the strange sounds again, this time from the guest room. The knocking sounds were coming from behind the walls, just as she told the pale swordsman, but they seemed different somehow. After realizing that she likely wasn't getting proper sleep, Rya got up once again and approached the room.
"Forgive me for intruding, but I-" Rya held her tongue once she realized that the guest room was empty. She smelled the strange scent of decay and jumped in surprise when she saw the corpse lying prone on the floor. To its side was a passageway she had never seen before.
"So there was a secret after all…oh my…" Rya's breath hitched and she felt her entire body tremble, but her need to find answers overrode the paralyzing fear that gripped her.
Mt. Gelmir – Guest Hall – Early Morning
Vergil emerged from the volcano's magma chamber, another dragon heart in his possession. The still-beating heart throbbed in his grasp, filling him with a feral need to feast upon it. But unlike his last encounter with a magma wyrm, Vergil was in full control over his faculties and saw no need to indulge such a desire. The magma chamber was vast and like the prison town, every structure engulfed by molten rock as though someone had consciously decided to use an active volcano's crater as a base for construction. Perhaps the choice was borne of pure foolishness, or perhaps it was created by the desire to prolong and savour another's torture. Given everything he'd seen so far, Vergil concluded that the latter seemed far more likely.
Much like the demonic tower Temen-ni-gru that Vergil once summoned, the architecture and history of the Volcano Manor reeked of sadistic intent, a place where suffering was not simply inflicted but judiciously enforced. To see the manor in its current state stood as a testament to Praetor's madness—or perhaps, a reflection of the nature he had always harboured within.
The Carian texts spoke of Rykard's military prowess, his ability to rally troops to his command, and how his ideals inspired many to flock against the Golden Order's never-ending conquest. This earned him not just the Order's ire, but the undying support of those who opposed its tyranny. The armies of Leyndell had tried to capture the manor in hopes of stamping out Rykard's ambition, but the Praetor and his forces scrupulously defended the fiery keep, using the mountainous terrain as a way of thinning out the Order's numbers.
Rykard was pragmatic to the point of paranoia, and eventually, the armies of Volcano Manor and Leyndell reached an impasse, and the bloodiest battle since the Shattering. While the walls of Leyndell remained impenetrable to outside forces, so too did the fiery mountain become unassailable. Ironically, this meant that Rykard's greatest strength had become his crutch. His fortress had transformed into a prison of his own making. Of course, such a detail would never be expounded upon by the Carian scholars, for they had no reason to disparage one of their own. Not even when he was a fiend who reveled in the torture of nobles and undesirables beneath his illustrious manor. Why would they, when he seemed to lead such a successful front against their oppressors? Fallen though he was, one could almost understand why so many fought under his banner. However, after bearing witness to the depravity hidden behind the manor's sinister curtains, Vergil knew that there was far more to the story than had been told.
With all threats silenced for the moment, Vergil turned his attention to the heart still beating in his hand. The stone-scaled artifact was something he'd never seen in his reality, and it served as a visceral reminder that he was nowhere close to home and may never return. Briefly recalling Yura's warning from long ago, Vergil was reminded of how eating the heart would cause him to "one day lose his humanity." As much as Vergil was amused by the idea of shedding his weak human half, there was no way for him to know how true those words would someday prove. He carefully stored the heart away, feeling its pulsing energy even through the fabric of his pouch.
Having reached a dead end, Vergil decided to ascend back into the town and investigate one of the chambers he'd passed earlier. The ability to teleport at will was still taxing on his body, but he appreciated the ability to use it at all. He visualized the stone arch of the temple he wished to see and found himself reappearing in a blue haze a moment later. It took a few breaths before the blue veins on his skin stopped glowing, but the momentary inconvenience was far preferable to making his way back on foot. He slowly approached the entryway, noticing the smell of incense, molten wax, and neatly organized pews.
The Temple of Eiglay was lit a hellish burgundy by a line of braziers that burned with traces of magical flame. It was supported by aged basalt pillars adorned with a web of blackened chains and sophisticatedly crafted chandeliers—lavish accoutrements mounted on a tangle of carved winged serpents. An elaborate tapestry of engraved images and carefully preserved banners told stories of an immortal serpent. The ancient deity was said to have presided over the mountain long before the Age of Gold, and how ritual sacrifice was a common practice to gain its favour. At the centre of the temple was an altar draped with what appeared to be the discarded husk of the venerated deity—a sight that looked and felt too organic to be a fabrication.
The silence raised alarms for Vergil's suspicion, so he cautiously approached the altar while readying his weapon. He flicked a sliver of the blade. With a spark, the scabbard glowed a cool blue from the mixture of the energies that powered and sustained it. The soothing hum of the magics that swirled around the blade echoed in tandem with the blue devil's footsteps—a sharp contrast to the unsettling silence present in the temple. Sure enough, Vergil's suspicion was proven correct when he narrowly dodged a black fireball that spawned inches away from his neck. The black flame burned with an intensity that rivaled the sixth circle of the fire hell, before vanishing into the void as quickly as it appeared. The sight intrigued the pale swordsman, as it was a flavour of magic that he'd only read about but never encountered in person. Summoning a phalanx of spectral swords to his side, he teleported himself across the room for a better vantage point. Just as the spectral glow of his blue veins subsided, the creature that summoned the black flame appeared.
The creature towered above him—a serpent-tailed humanoid that wore a thick suit made of patches of smooth skin crudely stitched together. A light aura of black flames surrounded his body, while his hand grasped a piercing sword that resembled a giant sewing needle. Affixed to the sword's handle was a spiraling blade—likely a painful countermeasure for extreme close-quarters combat. Vergil let loose his spectral swords, each projectile barely penetrating the thick aura of flame that surrounded the creature. With a wave of his hand, the tall creature summoned a ring of black flame that surrounded them, caging the pale swordsman within the creature's trap. Though the swordsman stood a short distance away from the raging fires that surrounded him and his foe, he could feel the intense heat that it generated. Vergil smirked, for he did not expect to encounter a Godskin Noble in this place, but it was a welcome surprise. Although weakened from the defeat of the Gloam-Eyed Queen, the black flame still carried with it a potency that Vergil wished to harness. With any luck, he could seize the power for himself. Cracking his neck in response, Vergil summoned a ring of spectral swords to spin around him as an offensive shield.
The creature moved deceptively quickly contrary to its size, and when he started thrusting his weapon over and over, Vergil found himself mildly amused. A cone of displaced air surrounded the tip of the noble's blade, blurring its motion into a technique that Vergil was more than familiar with. He deftly moved from side to side, the noble having trouble fully approaching him due to the presence of the spectral swords surrounding the pale swordsman. When the noble made the final thrust, he found himself surprised when the pale swordsman casually swatted the colossal weapon away using his weapon's scabbard.
"Weak!" Vergil exclaimed as he let loose his barrage of slashes, each strike too fast for the noble to perceive. Blue glowing arcs appeared to surround the swordsman, which matched the sinister glow of energy that continually leaked out of the cracked porcelain of his skin. The noble found his protective gear to be of little use, for his opponent's use of sorcery and swordplay was simply too overwhelming to properly defend against. Of all the gods he had encountered and slain so far, precious few could match his skills with a sword. His irises now glowing a piercing red, Vergil launched himself into the air with a spinning slash that would have neatly bisected the noble had it not been for the black flame that reinforced his defenses.
Frustrated, the Godskin Noble unleashed a wave of energy that sent the pale swordsman flying into a nearby pillar. Vergil spun around and used the pillar to leap back into action, the motion quickly extinguishing the traces of black flame that singed his blue coat. The noble saw the action and took a sizeable step back, shortly finding himself missing an arm when he heard the click of the swordsman snapping his weapon back into its sheath. The noble roared, for he had never been so thoroughly humiliated. His proud attire having been shredded beyond recognition, and his body covered in gashes and cuts, the noble took a step back and summoned a small wave of flame to cauterize the wound where his arm used to be. Now thoroughly enraged, the Godskin Noble crossed his arms and floated up, releasing a small shockwave around his shredded form. The thick layer of subcutaneous fat hidden behind his fleshy apron bloated up, now completely visible. With a forceful slam onto the ground, the Godskin Noble's aura intensified. He leaped up once again and landed on his side, rolling into a makeshift wheel that simply made Vergil shake his head.
The scorching flames incinerated everything in the temple save for a couple of pews while the noble tried to run the swordsman over. Said swordsman used the stone pillars to slow down the behemoth's momentum as they shattered, before he assumed a low stance and kicked the side of the "wheel," knocking the Godskin Noble out of his attack. The swordsman vanished and reappeared a short distance later, his arms charged with the crackle of dark, purplish energy. Despite the agonizing pain that coursed through his body, Vergil pressed on. He knew that he was once again taxing his body beyond its limits, but he did not care; he was having too much fun. Sword held aloft, Vergil unleashed his mixture of magic and forcefully infused it into his slender blade until its shape resembled a greatsword. By the time the noble thought to react, his body was cut in twain by the magical blade.
"That's that." Vergil once again shook the blood from his blade and returned it to its sheath. Upon dismissing his weapon, the blue devil began to immediately feel the aftereffects of his folly. He cursed under his breath as he fell to the floor thrashing in agony. His fingers shook from the strain while he struggled to breathe normally. Through his tremors, he could feel the still-beating dragon heart that he kept in one of his pouches and reached for it, forcing himself to devour it just as he had the last time he'd pushed his body to the limit. Vergil found the tremors slowly calm to a halt after he'd done so, making him wonder if feasting on the dragon's heart had accomplished anything or if he simply needed to wait until his body hastily repaired itself. Soon the pale glow of energy that leaked through his skin started to subside and Vergil found himself well enough to keep going. Just as before, vanquishing his foe spawned a site of grace, which he used eagerly to grant him some immediate relief from his burden.
Mt. Gelmir – Temple of Eiglay – Noon
"I know you're there, girl." Vergil flatly stated, his focus still fixed on the shard of golden light that shone in front of him.
"Wh-what is your business here?" Rya's voice was shaky but undeterred, even as she approached the pale swordsman.
"Searching for answers, yet it appears more questions remain."
"I-I see." Rya tried to sit next to the swordsman, only to realize that she had reverted into her serpentine form in her panic.
"Goodness…Oh, how dreadful…how dreadful indeed." The serpent-born maiden expressed her panic until she realized that just as before, the swordsman paid her no mind and was deep in thought.
"Forgive my distress…but I must ask…are you not…surprised, by my form?"
Vergil stoically shook his head. Unbeknownst to the girl, the blue devil had already known of her true form the moment he first saw her. Though a Devil Trigger was likely a foreign concept to the Lands Between, he could see her clumsy attempt at mimicking a human's visage. The girl was shocked at the swordsman's lack of reaction and began to see a kindred spirit in the fierce warrior. She attempted to introduce herself as Zorayas, but a piercing glare from the man told her that he did not care and wished to be left alone. She shyly bowed, approached the altar, and found a serpent's amnion that smelled uncannily familiar.
"Oh my…Lady Tanith…my own mother, has deceived me…was I not…born by the grace of a king?" Zorayas found herself contemplating her entire existence and vanished into a blue mist.
Vergil sat and planned out his next set of actions. After scouring the manor and its hidden town, he could find no trace of its master and the Great Rune that he carried. That is, until he found the serpent's remains in the temple that he was currently in.
"Blasphemy…serpent…. betrayal…Godskins…" Vergil snapped up as though he'd found the missing piece to the puzzle he'd been trying to solve.
"Rykard wished to rebel against the gods…and colluded with the Godskins to bring about their demise. Now where does a serpent fit into all this?" Vergil continued to ponder on the significance of serpents, and why the manor was so saturated with its imagery. When he found the Temple of Eiglay, Rykard's connection to the so-called blasphemous serpent became undeniable. Now it appeared as though the only way to find the missing Praetor was to hunt down the object of his obsession. With all the clues in place, Vergil departed to test his new theory.
The only way forward was to descend further into the bowels of the fiery mountain, through rivers of flame and bottomless caverns that could swallow men whole. The shrill hiss of volcanic gases drew the swordsman's attention to a network of tunnels left suspiciously unguarded. As Vergil ventured deeper into the heart of the mountain, he could feel a faint yet distinct rumbling beneath his feet. The echoes of a hollow chamber pulsed in a steady beat, leading the pale swordsman to a thin passage lined with burnt remains and charred armour plates. A sinister aura permeated through the uneven terrain, making it even more obvious that he was following the right path.
The tunnel twisted and turned, with each avenue revealing additional details on Rykard's descent. Unlike the other victims of the justiciar's depravity, the scattered remains that tormented the area all bore a common trait—Rykard's very own banner. It appeared that this company of knights all succumbed to a different injury, each more painful than the last—some had multiple bones broken, while others were wrapped in rags so haphazardly that chunks of their flayed skin remained on display. No matter the manner of injury each warrior sustained, they all shared an expression of frozen anguish. The unmistakable stench of scorched blood soaked through the volcanic ash scattered throughout the mountain's rocky interior—a serpentine trail that culminated in a wide entrance.
Mt. Gelmir – Volcano Manor – Early Afternoon
"Lady Tanith…" Zorayas reappeared in front of the stone-faced proprietress with the serpent's amnion in hand. "I'd like to have a word."
Tanith's eyes practically burst from their sockets upon seeing the moist sac being held by the young girl. She nodded then turned to her guardian. "Keep watch. I shan't be long."
The two strolled toward the master's chambers; in sharp contrast to her outward calm, Tanith's hands trembled at irregular intervals. She knew the truth would one day come to light, but she never anticipated it to happen so soon. Her mask's stoic expression served to bolster the fortitude she wished to instill in the manor's recusants, but in such a case, it only served to hide her feelings from the one who most needed to see them. She meekly closed the door and beckoned in a soft tone, "You may speak freely, Zorayas. What troubles you?"
"Moth- I mean…Lady Tanith…do you know what this is?"
Tanith felt her heart sink at the girl's hesitation. "Yes…my child…I do."
"How could you deceive me? And those bodies…that dungeon…was everything you told a lie?"
"Zorayas, you must understand…I—" Tanith found herself cut off.
"Are you even my real mother?" Zorayas pointedly asked even though she already knew the answer. Just the mere question pierced through Tanith's defenses.
"It's true that I did not birth you…but you remain my daughter all the same." Tanith's voice cracked. In a rare display of earnestness, she decided to shed her mask. Even if no one saw her true face, it was the least she could do to assuage her beloved daughter.
In spite of this, Zorayas remained distraught. "How can that be when our relation is based on nothing but falsehoods?"
"Sweet Zorayas, please forgive me. I did all that I could to protect you, I promise."
Zorayas turned away, her serpentine eyes welled with tears as she did. "Protect me? From what? From knowing the truth about what I am? From the horrors you and father have committed…that you made me party to?"
Tanith's shoulders collapsed from the weight of her deception. "I never wished to hurt you, Zorayas. I only wanted to give you a life free from the chains of the Golden Order…a life where you could live without fear."
"Chains…" Zorayas whispered, her voice breaking. "Answer me this, Lady Tanith…how was I born?"
Tanith took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. With the truth finally coming to light, she was no longer at liberty to fabricate an answer. "You were born…of a ritual. Between a woman and our Lord."
Zorayas froze and curled her face into her scaly hands. "So, you mean…this accursed frame…no…"
"That's not true in the least! When I said that I cherished your form, I meant it." Tanith attempted to reach out, but Zorayas turned away.
"I wish I could believe you…but I can't."
"Zorayas, listen to me. We are resisting the ways of the Erdtree itself. What matters one's lineage in such a crisis?"
Zorayas looked up, her eyes filled with sorrow and confusion. "What matters one's lineage? It matters to me, Lady Tanith. How can you claim to care about my safety when my very existence has been unnatural from the start?" The young serpent paused. "I'm leaving in search of my actual mother. Please respect my decision and leave me be."
As the serpent girl vanished in search of answers, Tanith remained in her chambers and wept.
Mt. Gelmir – Audience Pathway – Late Afternoon
Vergil cautiously approached the end of the tunnel and found himself in a vast hollow chamber illuminated by magic and molten rock. Tall onyx structures appeared to stretch to the very top of the mountain, while fiery chandeliers were suspended alongside hundreds of iron cages much like the ones seen in the prison town. The landscape was defined by jagged peaks of rough granite accompanied by a scattered sea of charred corpses—each packed so densely together that it was hard to tell one apart from another. The floor retained the heat of the magma rivers that stirred below it, which escaped in fiery pockets that spewed out steam and a constant spray of volcanic ash. On closer inspection, the dark structures connecting the ceiling to the base of the chamber were comprised not only of rock but supported by an untold number of carcasses preserved in the stone. Though their expressions were obscured, the bodies conveyed a similar level of desperation as the knights who failed to escape the chamber. Several bore Rykard's faded crest, which answered any lingering questions about the whereabouts of the fallen lord's army. With every step, Vergil could hear and feel the crunch of broken bones as they finally succumbed to the passage of time.
In the distance was a colossal mass of scaly flesh that undulated in a twisting coil. A small pool of magma bubbled underneath it and cast a shimmering reflection of fire on the creature's shiny scales. The volcanic deity towered far above anything the pale swordsman had fought or encountered, but this did nothing to deter him. He studied the serpent's form, looking for potential weak spots and formulating a plan of attack. In a few seconds, it would likely notice his presence and start to move, which left him a few precious moments to spare. Sure enough, a violent rumble started to shake the chamber and the great serpent began to stir awake.
Vergil readied himself with a phalanx of spectral blades and flicked a sliver of his blade out of its scabbard. The serpent sprang into action and lunged as soon as it noticed the intruder. After anticipating the serpent's movements, Vergil responded by warping a short distance away and driving his blade into its side. In a flash, the blade exploded in a burst of light that took the shape of a spectral greatsword, with each cut accompanied by the mirage blades spinning around him. The serpent's momentum caused the gash to extend along its length, ripping into its flesh and forcing it to recoil. Using its head as a bludgeon, the serpent smashed itself into the ground and swung forward, creating a shockwave that carried magma, shrapnel, and shards of bone. Vergil rolled to the side and paced himself.
"Disappointing," Vergil remarked as he carved another large gash on the serpent's body. For all the pretext he'd heard about an immortal serpent god, a beast was still a beast in the end. Surprisingly, a pair of humanoid arms burst from the creature—wrinkled and leathery, and adorned with a variety of rings. The limbs flailed around clumsily as if the serpent did not know how to use its new limbs. "No matter," Vergil thought as it gave him more targets to sever. Thus, he continued his assault. With any luck, he'd be able to take the beast down quickly and resume his search for Rykard and his Great Rune, completely unaware of how close he was to finding both.
The serpent flailed wildly, trying in vain to strike at its agile target, who only grew more disinterested with every injury he inflicted on the beast. After numerous failed attempts, the serpent's body finally gave out and its head crashed heavily onto the ground. The pale swordsman jumped back and avoided the wave of magma that splashed from the impact and slicked his hair back, thankful that he did not have to exert himself in any meaningful way.
Before he could fully relax, another presence began to stir within the great serpent's body. The beast's carcass twisted and turned, animated by a yet-invisible force. As it did so, hundreds of disembodied arms burst out from the wounds Vergil inflicted, all writhing as if begging to be set free. The serpent's head twisted around unnaturally, which revealed a patch of smooth scales that slowly morphed into the face of the manor's elusive proprietor.
"Hmm…," he groaned as if he'd been awakened from a deep slumber, "Very well."
The Praetor's voice rumbled uncomfortably as his golden eyes met the pale swordsman's. Unlike the great serpent's pathetic attempts, the ruthless justiciar had no issue with moving his humanoid arms. He reached within the serpent's mouth, which hung slack behind where his face now was and manifested a colossal sword that eerily pulsed with the grisly remains of immeasurable victims. Dozens of charred skeletons spilled out from the serpent's mouth—distorted outlines that were almost immediately melted by the pool of magma that spread beneath it. Utterly consumed by his lofty ambitions, Rykard's form overflowed with the blood spilled by his thirst for power and everything that he sacrificed to get there.
The great serpent twisted and coiled; as he did so, a pair of large humanoid legs burst from other wounds the pale swordsman inflicted, which further warped the god-devouring serpent into a nightmarish amalgamation of the great serpent deity and everything it consumed—from the uncountable masses of victims to the deranged demigod who divested himself in exchange for power. With his will and body fused to the great serpent, Rykard had been reborn. No longer a mere demigod, Rykard had devolved into something truly blasphemous. Indeed, where once he was a powerful figurehead, he was now a family of one in whose veins flowed the blood of thousands—a symbol of rebellion; an army made flesh.
"You…" Rykard's gravelly voice hissed with a mix of hunger and seduction. "Join the Serpent King, as family…Together, we will devour the very gods!"
"I'm afraid that I'll have to pass," Vergil remarked. "But I must say…that shape suits you better."
The Serpent King stomped its humanoid legs and created numerous cracks on the stony floor. Since the god-devouring serpent rose from its slumber, the volcano had begun to violently stir. Once the size of a large pond, the pool of roiling magma beneath the blasphemous serpent sizzled and erupted with every movement, sending geysers of steam that obscured the blue devil's vision. Rykard swept his Blasphemous Blade from side to side, the sword covered by a thin cone of displaced air every time it swung. Even when it missed, a shockwave of air sent waves of debris to explode in all directions, carrying with it large chunks of the earth which gave way to more magma. Vergil's coat was torn to shreds in quick succession, yet his skin remained intact thanks in no small part to his inhuman physiology.
~So he took his wings, and fled;
Then the morn blushed rosy red.~
The fires continued to accumulate inside the chamber, to the point where the air itself was nearly overrun by sulfur and water vapour. Were it not for the serpent's colossal size, it would have been difficult to spot with the thick mist that gathered underneath it. Vergil continued to dodge every swing, trying to find any openings to exploit. He fired wave after wave of spectral swords, which promptly shattered before they could reach their target. Every approach he made was disrupted by the unrelenting thunderclaps created Rykard's blade, which meant that there was little advantage to be had by keeping his distance. The earth continued to crack and collapse, and after a few of Rykard's attempts, Vergil realized that after all this time, the serpent had never been aiming at him.
The mountain continued to grumble and soon, the cracked earth was swallowed up by a rapid surge of liquid flame. The chamber continued to shake even without Rykard's intervention, but with it, the tremors became staggeringly constant. Eventually, staying on the ground became unfavourable and the pale swordsman had no choice but to run along the serpent's body to maintain his footing, slashing away with every movement. Every swing was met with resistance, as dozens of bloody appendages emerged from every wound Vergil inflicted. The serpent was like a hydra—where one limb was severed, dozens more would follow. The bloody limbs tried to reach for and scratch the swordsman whenever they surfaced. Each movement was frantically erratic. Whereas some scratched at the surface in a futile bid to escape, others clawed wildly in an attempt to drag one more soul into eternal damnation.
~I tried my tears, and armed my fears
With ten thousand shields and spears.~
Vergil surrounded himself once again with spiraling blades, which greatly aided with slashing off every new arm that would try to grab his frame, but no matter how many times he retaliated, the serpent's wounds continued to heal. The Lord of Blasphemy continued to thrash and coil which made landing a foothold more of a hassle.
Vergil began to heave from the strain on his body. Though he steeled himself before the fight, this was a battle of attrition, and despite preserving his demonic energy to warp around more freely, too many near misses had caused his magical reserves to run dry. His eyes had turned a sinister crimson once again, and he used everything in his power to stay in control, but the serpent's attacks were unyielding, and he was starting to run out of options. Rykard held his blade aloft, and from the burning mists emerged a legion of rancorous spirits that left explosions in their wake. Vergil weaved around as best as he could, using a mixture of his natural movement and teleportation to escape their grasp. But the numbers were too great, and he found himself caught in a series of explosions.
"Ngah!" Vergil yelled as the fiery spirits blasted him with their unending ire. The force of the blows momentarily stunned the wounded warrior, allowing Rykard to lunge at him with the serpent's maw.
Demon World – Unsacred Hellgate
"Am I…being defeated?" Vergil had been brought to his knees, a torrent of water raging underneath him.
"What's wrong? Is that all you've got?" His younger twin taunted. "Come on. You can do better than that!"
Mt. Gelmir – Rykard, Lord of Blasphemy – Early Evening
"Unghhh!" Vergil grumbled. His head felt as though it was going to crack open at any moment. Upon regaining consciousness, the pale swordsman found himself caught in a tangle of limbs, each clawing at his flesh and sapping away his life force. His weapons were woefully out of reach, and he found himself trapped in a small pocket within the serpent's bowels. The chamber was dark, damp, and impossible to move in. If it wasn't for the demonic energy seeping out from his cracked skin, he would have no way to discern one direction from the next. He had been defeated. To deny it would be disingenuous. And he'd already died once before. All he had to do was let go. Yet for some reason, Vergil refused to yield. He couldn't die yet.
"There's no time for doubt. I know what must be done!"
Rykard cackled with glee. The pale warrior was powerful and without peer, yet he was able to emerge victorious. He'd suffered tremendous losses, but with the help of his Great Rune, he was able to recover every time his opponent made contact. Satisfied, he slithered back to the magma reservoir, when he felt a strange tenderness from within his bowels. Since merging with the God-Devouring Serpent, Rykard's sense of pain had been entirely redefined. His divine gifts ensured that no wound would ever last, and nothing could ever cut deep enough to truly threaten him. Everything he once felt when he was mortal had gone away since he ascended, but in this moment, he felt as though his insides were being pierced by thousands of needles all at once. Rykard thrashed violently, unable to stomach the ache that was tearing him from within. He didn't think it could possibly get worse until he felt an all-too-familiar pain. With a burst of light in the shape of a blade, Vergil emerged from the serpent's side, great spear in hand. Rykard's eyes narrowed and immediately bulged in a panic. There was only one other weapon that could truly threaten the God-Devouring Serpent, and by swallowing it along with its wielder, Rykard thought that it would forever be out of reach. Yet here it was, back to haunt him once again.
Vergil stopped for a moment to regain his breath. His eyes still glowing a sinister red, Vergil arose clad in the Dark Angel's armour. Demonic flames erupted from his arms and flowed into the great spear he wielded, colouring its blade of light with the bluish tint of infernal energy. He held the spear back while standing motionless in a drawing stance. As the influx of infernal energy accumulated in the spear, visible cracks began to appear on the ancient weapon's surface. After regaining his bearings, Rykard held his blade aloft once more, harnessing the mountain's ire and that of the well of vengeful souls he contained within. His once sacred sword crackled and glowed with blasphemous flame, ready to burst at a moment's notice. With his opponent still stationary, Rykard let loose the wrath of the Taker's Flame that gathered upon his unholy edge. The mountain groaned in protest from the accursed invocation, but just as the flaming blade was about to make contact, the Lord of Blasphemy heard a fierce declaration. In that moment, time stood still, and a voice echoed.
"You shall die!"
Rykard saw the warrior vanish and then reappear a blink later with his back turned. He twirled the spear and just as he completed his motion, the dark, bluish aura that cloaked him vanished. Before the Serpent King could process what had happened, his body came apart all at once. Every limb, scale, and droplet of blood severed multiple times, as though a blade had run through him for every soul he devoured. His body had been completely eviscerated, leaving nothing left but his dismembered head. With the fading vestiges of his strength, the Serpent King defiantly declared:
"No one will hold me captive." Pursing his crusty lips, he attempted to summon another wave of spirits but was interrupted when the blue devil thrust the great spear's spectral blade into his face. A loud thundercrack followed the ferocious strike—a strike that shattered the Serpent King's scaly armour and disintegrated the flesh it held within. The Great Serpent weakly laughed.
"A serpent never dies…"
With its magic overwhelmed and depleted, the ancient spear that Vergil wielded shattered into tiny pieces. As the blue devil's sight began to fade, he felt an inexplicable force flow into him from his enemy's remains. He briefly saw a cryptic vision of a distant tower behind the Royal Capital's walls and then collapsed into a heap of exhaustion.
Mt. Gelmir – Audience Chamber – Late Evening
The ringing echo of nearing footsteps interrupted the blue devil's fleeting slumber.
"You…It's true then. You've defeated our Lord." Tanith fell to her knees at the sight of her fallen consort and prostrated herself in front of the Great Serpent's remains. Her voice made no effort to hide her sorrow, yet the words she spoke betrayed her shaky tone. "I must thank you. Our Lord was yet weak. You have taught us that."
Vergil was puzzled by Tanith's unexpected gesture. Considering how crucial Rykard was to her cause, he expected nothing short of anger or hostility.
"Your thanks are unnecessary," he replied, his voice cold and expressionless to hide his bewilderment. "Do you not resent me for slaying your Lord?"
Tanith shook her head. "Defeat is not the end. Our Lord is immortal, and will one day rise again, stronger. Until then, I must stay the path, and do my part."
Before Vergil could comment, the woman unmasked herself and began to feast upon the Great Serpent's remains. As he walked away, he could hear a faint whisper.
"Dear Rykard, please find purchase within me, I wish to be your serpent; your family. One day, let us devour the gods together…"
Mt. Gelmir – Volcano Manor – Midnight
A dim blue glow bounced off the aged tiles of the manor—tiny sparks that soon faded back into oblivion. Shortly after defeating the Great Serpent, Vergil endeavoured to scout out Leyndell's defenses by warping atop one of the Volcano Manor's many spires. Since the mountain overlooked the Altus Plateau, it gave him a clear enough vantage point to survey the Royal Capital. As the evening stars shone their light over the horizon, Vergil pondered about the events that led to this moment. Like the Serpent King, he had cast away everything he had, and though his quest granted him immense power, the search never seemed to end. He knew all too well how powerful of a force obsession could be. To that end, he understood Rykard's motivations perfectly.
Vergil breathed a long sigh. Turning his head, he heard a series of whispers from nearby.
"…something that can never be accepted, not by men, nor serpents."
The whispers became louder as their source approached.
"Even Lady Tanith shouldn't accept me."
Vergil readied his weapon and assumed a fighting stance. He looked around then saw the young serpent girl running at him in her true form. Her steps were clumsy and uncoordinated—clear signs of distress. She tried to leap at him, only to hesitate at the last second and unceremoniously stumble. The blue devil put his weapon aside and turned away.
"You're not willing to kill me, are you." The girl grimly chuckled. Vergil tilted his head then flicked a sliver of his weapon in irritation.
"If you truly wish to die, then so be it. But don't be weak about it."
The girl fell to her knees and wept, causing Vergil to shake his head and turn away just as before. After marking his map, the pale swordsman envisioned the golden light sitting at the base of the mountain and vanished into a blue mist.