As Vergil's sword completed its swift slice through the final demon's brittle flesh, the resulting spray of dark blue liquid was far from what he had anticipated. Reacting quickly, he stepped aside, narrowly avoiding the viscous substance as he sheathed his blade. Unfortunately, his companion wasn't quite as quick to dodge.

He saw its effects before she felt them. The rain that had been pouring relentlessly since they met earlier that evening suddenly ceased, only to crash down moments later in a billion tiny shards. As she started to protest, Lady's lips were already turning blue, her breath forming a thick cloud in the air. Within seconds Vergil was upon her, frantically wrapping the heavy folds of his coat around her shivering frame and pulling her close to his chest.

"Don't try to speak," he breathed into her neck. "You need to conserve as much energy as possible." Tiny icicles started to form in his hair as Lady trembled in his embrace. He needed to get them somewhere warm, and fast. His body heat was naturally higher than hers, but even he could only stave off the cold for so long before his core temperature began to drop. "Frost demon," Vergil muttered, lifting Lady into his arms. The hairs on his bared skin stood on end, and he noticed that he, too, was starting to pale. "Not something I've seen in the summer before. They usually avoid the heat at all costs." He summoned the Yamato to his side, and was about to unsheathe it, when he realised that Lady probably wouldn't survive the shock of demonic travel in her current state. Cursing under his breath, he searched their surroundings for shelter. "We need to get you out of those clothes," he said, tightening his grip on her. "Can you remember if we passed by any buildings on the way over?"

Lady's breath tickled his ear as she tried to speak, and he leant closer. Her hand weakly snaked its way around his neck, and he felt her smile weakly against his cheek. "...At least… buy me a drink first," she rasped, before her head lolled against his shoulder.

"Damn it, woman, now is not the time for foolish quips!" Vergil hissed.

When he received no response, panic surged in his chest. After casting his eyes around once more, he did the only thing left he could think of. Squeezing Lady even closer, he closed his eyes and channelled his remaining strength into transforming. Blue flames erupted from the horns on his head, and he prayed that the infernal heat radiating from within him would be enough to keep Lady alive until they could find shelter. His wings beat powerfully against the frigid air as he soared upwards, leaving the corpse-strewn battlefield behind. Each flap cut through the thickening mist surrounding them, sending plumes of frozen particles towards the ground. His movements grew more difficult as his skin became coated in melting ice, and the vibrant blue flames began to dim as he flew, their light flickering like a dying ember.

The overcast sky, still heavy with dark clouds, offered little solace as he scanned their surroundings, desperate to find shelter before his waning strength gave out. Vergil gritted his teeth, forcing himself to push on, but the weight of Lady in his arms and the oppressive chill around them made every moment a battle against his own limits. He rocked Lady up and down like an infant as he flew, hoping that the movement would be enough to keep her blood flowing. The ground below was a patchwork of ruined buildings and deserted streets; remnants of a small village long forgotten after being taken over by the underworld's denizens.

At last, Vergil spotted a structure in the distance. A crumbling church, its steeple barely holding out against the ravages of time and neglect. The irony was not lost on him - a creature like him, seeking refuge in a place once devoted to the divine. It was almost comical. Yet, there was no time to dwell on such thoughts. Vergil angled his wings and descended. With a final burst of strength, he propelled them both through the shattered remains of the church's stained-glass window, crashing into the nave with a garbled roar. He turned quickly, shielding Lady from the force of the landing as they skidded across the cold stone floor, broken shards of glass scattering around them like petals. Vergil's wings dissolved into dark mist as his demonic form collapsed, leaving him panting on the ground. Lady's crumpled form lay on top of him, her ragged breath tickling his neck in short bursts.

Vergil lay in silence for a moment, the tense thrumming in his ears broken only by the distant sound of the storm raging outside. He raised a shaky hand and checked Lady's pulse. It was faint but steady – a small mercy in the midst of their dire situation. He glanced around the derelict church. Its once grand architecture was now reduced to rubble and decay. Enough roof remained to shelter them from the rain, but it offered little else. He gathered Lady into his arms once more, feeling her shiver as the cold continued to seep into her. His eyes settled on the remnants of an old wooden pew, partially broken but still intact enough to keep her off the dampened ground. As gently as he could, he lay her down on its splintered surface.

Vergil's breath steadied as he knelt beside Lady, cradling her limp form in his arms. He knew what needed to be done, but the thought of it caused him momentary pause despite the urgency of the situation. Vergil's jaw tightened as he steeled himself. It's for her survival, he reminded himself sternly, as if the thought alone could banish the discomfort gnawing at the back of his mind. He took a deep breath and began.

With precise, almost mechanical movements, Vergil started to peel away the layers of Lady's clothing. The fabric, stiffened by the freezing liquid, cracked and tore under his hands as he worked, falling away in brittle shards. His fingers, normally so sure and steady, trembled as they brushed against her bare skin. With each item he removed, his uneasiness grew; a mixture of shame and concern. Still he forced himself to focus on the task at hand, methodically working his way down until Lady was stripped to her undergarments. As he reached the last barrier of cloth, his hands faltered once more. The woman before him had always been a formidable companion, one who could hold her own in the midst of chaos. To see her so vulnerable, laid bare before him, was… unsettling.

Vergil swallowed as dim sunlight filtered through the church's windows, casting a faint glow across her pale skin. He couldn't help but take in her appearance, noting the vast constellation of scars scattered across her body. The marks revealed a difficult and violent lifestyle, and a past that Lady tried hard to hide behind her reckless and carefree nature. And yet, they were also a testament to her survival, and her determination to carry on living. It was a tenacity that Vergil could identify with all too well. Something stirred within him. His gaze traced the curves of her body, the way her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, the way the light seemed to dance across her skin. This was the same woman who could match him in both wit and skill, who had never hesitated to call him out or challenge him. And now, she was utterly dependent on him to survive. He couldn't let her die. Not after she had fought for so long.

His hands hovered over the final pieces of clothing, a barrier between them that he knew he had to cross despite his reservations. Her underwear was boyish and mismatched, and it made what he was about to do seem even more personal. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, pushing aside the thoughts that threatened to cloud his judgement. He chastised himself, knowing that he couldn't afford to let his reluctance endanger her any further. With a pained sigh, he slipped the straps of her bra down her muscular arms and tossed it aside, trying to ignore the way his pulse quickened at the sight of her bared chest. His hands moved hesitantly to her underwear. His touch was careful, and he kept his eyes trained on her face as he hooked his fingers around the thin fabric and drew it down over her hips, feeling the soft curve of her waist beneath his hands. Vergil took a shuddering breath, forcing himself to focus, as his hands slid down her taut thighs.

As the last piece of Lady's dignity dropped to the floor, Vergil allowed himself one last shameful glance before searching for something to cover her with. He remembered almost too late that his discarded coat was still soaked in the demon's blood, and tossed it aside. Useless. He scanned the desolate church, his mind racing for a solution. The pew cushions were too mouldy, the altar cloths too rotted. There was nothing left here that could offer her the warmth she so desperately needed.

His gaze fell to his own chest. His clothes were the only dry pieces of cloth he had left, but the thought of being exposed beside her left him uneasy. Even so, he had to do something. He reached up and began to undo his vest, keeping his back to her. The chill in the air bit at his skin as he stripped it off, reminding him of the urgency of the situation and how foolish he was for allowing emotions to get in the way of action. He moved quickly, wrapping the garment around Lady with as much care as he could muster, his hands lingering just for a moment as he secured the zipper over her upper half. The vest came down to just above her knees. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to suffice.

Once he was sure she was covered, he sat on the pew beside her and pulled her onto his lap, sharing what little warmth he could offer in his current state. His hand glided gently up and down her arms, and along her calves, trying to rub life back into her stiffened limbs. Her body was hard, toughened with muscle built through years of combat, yet her chest was soft against his, and it took all of his restraint to not let his hands wander to where he knew they had no right to be.

It hit him suddenly, as he tried to breathe warmth into her frozen hands and her fingers curled slightly around his – he loved her. It was a deep, visceral love that he knew had existed for a long time, buried beneath layers of pride and stoicism. An enduring affection that had been hidden amongst countless taunts and teasing threats to kill one another. She had been a constant presence, one who could match him blow for blow, laugh in the face of danger, and look him dead in the eye without flinching. A companion and an adversary in equal measure. She was the only human who had ever stood her ground against him, who had challenged him without fear, yet also offered him a respect that was deeper than words. The one person that recognised his strength yet was unafraid to acknowledge his flaws. And he loved her for it.

But as he gazed down at her, struggling to claw her way back from the brink of death, that love twisted painfully in his chest. What right did he, who had been the cause of so much of her suffering, have to feel this way? The thought tore at him. He wanted to reach out, to caress her cheek and whisper the deep truth that had finally bubbled to the surface. But instead, he clenched his jaw and forced himself to think rationally. He could never burden her with the knowledge of his feelings. It wouldn't be fair. His gaze lingered on her face, her usually harsh expression softened in her unconscious state. He hesitated, then brushed some hair behind her ear, pleased to see that some colour was already returning to her cheeks. He prayed that she would wake up soon, and yet a small part of him wanted to spend more time with her like this – the two of them finally sharing more than just insults in a rare moment of quiet.

"Lady…" he said softly, testing to see whether she was conscious. When she didn't stir, he cleared his throat and tried again, louder. "Mary." Still nothing. He took the opportunity to plant a delicate kiss on her forehead. "...I love you," he whispered quietly, knowing that he could never allow himself to say such words again. He pulled her to him and rocked gently back and forth, waiting. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled.