"Swiftly, Torrent…"

The ashen-haired warrior uttered as his spectral steed galloped and wove around all manner of obstacles. His wind-swept hair gave way to a stern expression as he steered his way around ruins, crypts, and the occasional soldier camp. With the knowledge of runes and their ability to bolster his strength, Vergil ensured that none who crossed his path lived to speak of it. Hordes fell to his blade, now tempered by the blood of his enemies, yet blunted from repeated use. A passing trip to a wandering merchant allowed him to maintain and reinforce his weapon, though he found it ludicrous to keep turning back whenever his weapon dulled. Still, the option was preferable to stealing countless discarded weapons, many of which were left shattered by the time he had finished with his opponents.

The warrior thought back to the events of the past few days, and how against his better judgment, he accepted the company of a mysterious maiden. Though she came bearing gifts, Vergil knew better than to trust anyone, especially in his weakened state. He always preferred traveling by his lonesome in the past. It allowed him to govern his own movements and kept him from being dragged down in his many skirmishes against the demon world's armies. With the knowledge that his twin brother had survived the manor's destruction all those years ago, Vergil felt a maddening pang that made him wish he had the strength to protect his family that day. Hidden behind layers of guilt, Vergil learned to hide his sorrow under walls of detachment and a thick veneer of arrogance. In the past, he may have had the strength to sustain this façade, but now…

Vergil banished the thought and looked at a familiar warm glow off into the distance. He rested the weight of his legs on Torrent's stirrups, ready to dismount. The horse, recognizing his rider's intention, dematerialized, leaving the swordsman to land perfectly on the ground. It did not take long for both rider and steed to become familiar with each other, and the longer the demonic swordsman spent with the horned spirit horse, the more he appreciated his presence. The Lands Between was a vast continent, full of challenges no mere man would be able to overcome. But he was no mere man. Resting by the site of grace, Vergil summoned his companion. The maiden materialized from a cloud of bright blue mist and silently knelt before him. Though the warrior had proven himself a skilled fighter, Melina still had her doubts about his character. It appeared as though he was driven by an endless lust for power…a quality that would doubtless be used against him by the worshippers of the chaos flame. However, until she returned to Leyndell, there was little she could do about the situation. Her ability to become corporeal consumed too much of her power at present. Melina inwardly sighed as she once again offered her hand to channel Vergil's runes, sparse as they were, into strength.

Reluctant as he may have been to accept Melina's assistance at first, Vergil could not deny that the maiden had her uses.

She kept her distance well enough, never interfered in his affairs, and only appeared at sites of grace at his behest to strengthen him. From the time that passed, it seemed as though the corrupted tear in his soul would never fully heal, but the strength of runes helped to ease his burden, nonetheless. Day by day, Vergil sought after powerful foes. Day by day, he would have his request denied. After a week's worth of hunting, even storming a guarded gate felt like a chore. Perhaps searching for more dragons would better quench his thirst for a challenge. Many paths presented themselves to him in his travels, and Torrent made travel a much less tedious affair. Though he had the ability to tirelessly run through these endless fields, there was no need for it when at present, Torrent could cover more ground. Gratitude was not something that Vergil was accustomed to expressing, but he nonetheless felt grateful for the steed that carried him through these foreign lands.

Thus far, the warrior had made little progress towards the Erdtree, choosing instead to wander into the Weeping Peninsula to the south in search of a worthy adversary. He'd heard talk of a legendary sword to the south and wished to see if its wielder was worthy of legend. Slaughtering his way through the Bridge of Sacrifice, Vergil came across a maiden sitting on the side of the road—her eyes wrapped in a thick cloth. She sat along a small stone wall, barely lit by the wayward flicker of a candle flame. To find someone non-hostile seemed a rarity in these lands, as every manner of creature Vergil had thus encountered seemed to attack on sight. This made it difficult for him to ascertain the circumstances he was thrust into when he found himself wandering through the Lands Between. If she wasn't going to attack, then perhaps she had some information for him to gather. The warrior silently approached, his hand resting on his scabbard should she turn out to be a threat.

"Hello? Is somebody there?"

Without pause, the maiden spoke.

"Might I bend your ear for a moment, please?"

"You are far too trusting, girl. It would do you well to be cautious. Why are you in such a state?"

She tilted her head confused but continued.

"My name is Irina. I've escaped from Castle Morne, to the south. The servants there…have rebelled."

Vergil thought back to his years of service under the demon emperor.

"They may have had reasons for that."

"I-I can't be sure what it is; my eyesight's been weak since birth you see…but I swear I heard frightful howling from all over. My good father secreted me out the castle, but decided himself to stay. He says it's his duty, as commander."

Her voice quivered as if to hold back a sob.

"I…I fear for father's life. The servants are full wrath. Filled with hatred for every one of us. They've since come for every one of the companions I escaped with. They haven't spared a soul. I fear it's no different at Castle Morne."

"That is not my concern."

"Please, I implore you. Would you mind taking a letter to my father, at the castle? My sole wish is that he escape, even if his honour should be the price."

"Absolutely disgraceful, begging like that…Have you no shame, girl? I am no messenger to be sent about on an errand."

"Please…I just want him to be safe…"

She extended her left arm, handkerchief in hand. The cloth was ragged and lightly stained with blood. The sight, as inconsequential as it was, triggered a distant memory in the half-demon. Though decades had passed, he could still feel the heat that burst out of him each time Mundus' minions stabbed into his childish frame. Despite his best efforts, he could never fully rid himself of the despair he felt when he last begged for help, only to receive none. He wasn't sure what compelled him to take the bloody piece of cloth, but he quickly snapped out when the maiden motioned to speak once again.

"Thank you, dearly."

"You've put me in a foul mood. Begone before I end you myself."

Vergil summoned Torrent and rode south towards the castle.

Sure enough, Vergil could see what remained of a wrecked caravan, a few beasts scavenging the lot. He made short work of them as he passed through, coming across another site of grace and a traveling merchant before approaching the castle.

Standing in front of a stone stairway was a large golem, quiver at the ready; its sheer size nearly dwarfed the front gate. As the golem loosed its arrow, Vergil could hear the loud boom of the drawstrings retreating. The arrow, itself the size of a large spear, quickly embedded itself to the side of the road, barely missing where Torrent had last been. The horse sped forward before feeling the familiar tug of its rider's weight resting on his stirrups. With a swift whinny, Torrent ran towards the golem's ankles before dematerializing, giving his rider the momentum to thrust his sword forward upon dismounting. A chunk of the golem's leg exploded from the strike, crippling the creature, and toppling it down to its side. Blade at the ready, the warrior once again thrust into the exposed underbelly of the stone giant, sending forth jets of molten rock from the open gash. The golem roared as it struggled before it finally fell silent.

Vergil sauntered towards the gate and ascended through a wooden lift. The sight before him was just as the girl had witnessed. Scores of beasts, malnourished and feral, yelled into a faceless void—stepping on a mountain of freshly charred corpses. The smell was overpowering, barely concealed by the plumes of smoke that yet remained. What appeared to be a bipedal chimera raised their axes in celebration, too distracted to notice the son of Sparda casually strolling by. Making his way through the castle, the ashen-haired warrior saw armored knights fighting against more of the chimeras, who seemed to have the upper hand in both numbers and tactics. Vergil merely observed the two parties while leaving them to their devices. When one would take notice, groups would follow, and soon, Vergil found himself dispatching both the knights and Misbegotten foolish enough to get in his way. Now moving through the rooftops of the western parapet, Vergil noticed an increasing number of knights hiding behind wooden barricades. These proved to be useless, as the Misbegotten would barrel their way through the fortifications without regard for their safety and expose the knights to a frenzy of talons and blades. The assailants were uncompromising, leaving no prisoners behind.

Soon, they too would turn their attention upon the wandering demon. One leaped forward with an iron cleaver, only to be sent hurtling backward with a single well-placed slash towards its chitinous forearms. Despite the runes and the power Vergil had gathered thus far, no amount granted him the speed he once prided himself on…and so he had no choice but to dash at his enemies using his weapon's weight and balance to increase the efficacy of his strikes. Doing so made quick work of those unfortunate enough to be caught in the melee, but others were far more discerning. Choosing instead to stay back, the winged Misbegotten fired their crossbows, whose bolts were barely deflected in time. Some managed to nick the warrior, who cursed at how slow his movements still were, while others found themselves embedded in the warrior's arms and torso. He did not relent, however, and continued to push forward, making use of the throwing knives he had acquired from a traveling merchant just hours before. The knives found themselves buried in their targets' leathery wings, and soon the ranged assailants too met their end at the demon's blade when they inevitably came crashing down. A singular thrust into a Misbegotten's skull took care of any remaining stragglers before all opposition was silenced.

Once everything had been dealt with, the demonic warrior ascended to the very top of the tower and came across the first non-hostile human in the castle. The warrior was weary but his disposition and bloodied armour suggested that he was no novice in the art of war.

"Ahh, there's a face I've not seen before. I'm Edgar, warden of this castle as ordained by Lord Godrick himself. But you can see how things have turned out."

The man spoke with a harsh expression and a weariness that beget the disgust in which he described his enemies.

"The menials have all rebelled. They gave me good service, or so I thought, but it seems it was all an act. Foul creatures as it's said. And true enough they're foul inside and out."

Once again, the demon was reminded of why he preferred to avoid the company of humans. Despite their weakness, the hapless scum often found a way to look down on those they deemed inferior, no different from the spawn of the demon world. It sickened him, knowing that he was related to these pests.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you. But whatever you came here to do. I'm afraid Castle Morne won't hold much longer."

Wishing to shorten the conversation, the half-demon reached for the handkerchief he'd received earlier and tossed it at the man.

"I see, from Irina…"

Edgar now spoke with a soft tenderness that was hitherto absent.

"Thank you. I'm in your debt. But I can't leave yet. Even if the castle should fall, as commander, I must remain. To ensure the treasured sword of Morne does not fall into the wrong hands."

"You'd do better to fight yourself, rather than sit here idly." Vergil finally spat. The courtesy having been granted, he no longer had any reason to engage in conversation. The man sat in silence, pondering the stranger's words. By the time he spoke again, the pale swordsman had turned his back and started walking away. Though Edgar found this action to be rude, he could not deny that the man had done him a great service. He swallowed his irritation and spoke again.

"If you see Irina, do tell her. That her father will come for her, once he's fulfilled his duty."

"You can tell her that yourself," Vergil replied dismissively.

Having seen the state of the castle, Vergil surmised that the sword of Morne had already fallen into the hands of the rebelling Misbegotten.

Surely its wielder could pose more of a challenge…unlike everything else in the castle.

With barely any enemies left remaining, the half-demon sped through the castle, rushing through the rooftops and slaying all in his path. Looking down through the southern tower, he could see a leonine Misbegotten with crimson hair, brandishing a sword that rivaled its already-imposing size.

That must be it.

He descended the castle walls, moving through the uneven terrain of the cliffside it rested upon until he landed on the shallow waters of a nearby beach. Curiously, congregations of spirit jellyfish floated about on a stony path leading to the small isle. Eyeing the creatures, the blue devil saw that they were sedentary beasts and would likely leave him if he paid them no mind; he wondered if they even noticed or cared about his presence.

In the small isle past a solitary stone archway was a worn-down fortification. A chapel of some sort, the building had long fallen into disrepair. Uneven piles of rubble were stacked on its extremities, perhaps hinting at the presence of walls in times past. Now only a nearly undisturbed array of gravestones remained, along with the red-maned warrior who ran forward, having spotted what it thought was its next prey.

The Misbegotten creature towered over the half-demon, wielding a sword that nearly doubled its height. The weapon itself appeared to be a gross amalgamation of smaller swords hastily grafted to make a bigger blade. From its strange construction and the size and presence of the warrior wielding it, Vergil was certain that this was the legendary sword he sought after.

"How repulsive."

Other than its rich red mane, the creature sported several features that likened it to a lion although more humanoid. Its limbs were long and spindly, and what appeared to be vestigial wings hung about uselessly on its lower waist. Pulling its sword behind its shoulder, the creature unleashed a wide slash, using the weapon's weight to punctuate the power of the strike. Vergil deftly rolled to the side, leaving enough of a distance to plot his next move. The Misbegotten warrior roared, its excitement now apparent with a noticeable wag of its serpentine tail. It leapt, stomping its feet to unleash a small shockwave that sent waves of water and stone flying. Still, the blue devil kept his distance and assessed the strength of his foe. Growing ever frustrated, the Misbegotten warrior swiped its free claw, each digit lined with piercing talons. These were summarily deflected, only for the creature to swing its weapon with both hands in a sweeping motion. The blue devil dashed to the side but wasn't quick enough to evade the blow, so he opted to block in the last instant. The strike reverberated from his weapon to his arm sockets, which momentarily flared in pain. Though the blue devil planted his feet firmly on the ground, he could not help but be staggered by the strength of the blow.

The Misbegotten took advantage of this and continued its onslaught of strikes, unleashing a combination of stomps, claw strikes, and sweeping slashes that left little room to breathe. Although Vergil had always preferred to dodge attacks rather than block them like his foolish younger twin, he found himself at a disadvantage due to his body's limitations. He silently cursed as he was forced to block one more blow; at this rate, his weapon would shatter before he could land a clean hit. The creature roared once more then slid to the side, lifting its grafted sword aloft and assuming a blocking pose. A faint light emanated from the blade, and then in an instant, the Misbegotten warrior dashed through, crossing the distance it set in half the time. It resumed its onslaught of strikes, leading with a two-handed overhead slash that Vergil dodged more out of luck than he'd ever care to admit. The creature followed up with a singular swipe of its free claw and upon Vergil stepping out of the way, swept the grafted blade with both hands which landed squarely into its target's abdomen. Countless blades dug themselves into Vergil's unarmoured stomach—too uneven to slice cleanly through, but sharp enough to rip out chunks of flesh as he was sent flying backward.

"Nghhhh!"

Where did this strength come from?

In a quick instant, the Misbegotten Warrior had landed its first solid blow. One that had his opponent reeling. Vergil took a quick sip from the crimson flask as he recovered, feeling its invigorating effects take hold of his open wounds. If there was ever a time to be thankful for his demonic physiology, this would be a shining example. The blue devil once again cursed at his lack of speed, even if it did make these fights more interesting. In his current state, even if he could anticipate or perceive his enemies' movements, his body would not be able to react in time for a proper response. He gritted his teeth and readied his blade.

"I have no name;

I am but two days old."

The Misbegotten warrior hunched into a bestial stance, its form lowered to all fours.

What shall I call thee?

It ran past the blue devil and slashed sideway in passing. One of the blades caught on Vergil's thigh.

"I happy am,

Joy is my name."

Vergil winced in pain, but planted his sword on the ground, anticipating his opponent's next strike.

Sweet joy befall thee!

He swept his sword upward, cutting through the Misbegotten's arm before its claw swipe could land.

Pretty joy!

Sweet joy, but two days old.

The creature roared and swept its colossal weapon to the side. Vergil briefly sidestepped but was swatted by the "flat" edge of the blade, itself still littered with smaller swords. His sanguine flesh relented.

Sweet joy I call thee:

Vergil let loose a spinning slash as he turned from the momentum of his opponent's strike. He followed with his own combination of precise stabs and jabs, aiming at the Misbegotten warrior's joints. A severed network of nerves rendered its arms inert as it struggled to maintain its grip on its weapon.

Thou dost smile,

I sing the while;

The grafted sword crashed into the ground, its wielder having fallen to its knees; the graveyard consecrated afresh with the scars of battle. The demonic swordsman pulled his arm back, ready to lunge. In a final act of defiance, the creature roared in pain as it threw a bloodied claw toward the warrior, who backhanded the strike with his left hand.

Sweet joy befall thee!

A quick thrust to the creature's throat ended its misery.

Soon after conquering Castle Morne, Vergil came across Edgar who appeared knee-deep in the bodies of countless Misbegotten. It seemed as though he had finally taken up arms against the uprising.

"I am in your debt. For keeping the sword from those fallen creatures."

"I did no such thing. I was merely after a challenge, and I got it."

Having achieved his goal, the half-devil had no need or desire to stay in the castle. He walked forward, dragging his sword like a cane as he kept himself from stumbling. The warden spoke in farewell.

"I'm no longer bound by duty. Thanks to you, I will be reunited with Irina. And devote my remaining days to her."

Vergil summoned Torrent and rode through the same pathway where Irina first accosted him. In her place was a bloodied corpse with an iron cleaver planted to the ground beside it. As he looked at the body, he was reminded of the warden's parting words.

"Irina has a gentle nature though. I only hope it remains intact."

Hours later, Vergil found himself scavenging an enemy camp for a fresh set of clothing. Though nothing suited him, anything was better than running around with the tattered mess he was left with after his last battle. He ultimately settled on whatever managed to fit his frame. In this case, it was a drab and lightly stained chain-draped tabard. The once-proud warrior dusted the dirt caked onto the armour's rusted pauldrons and rested at a site of grace. A familiar presence appeared from a fog of blue mist and knelt across the traveler.

"That was a kind thing you did…helping that girl."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Why did you deliver the letter to her father?"

"I do not wish to speak of this any longer."

A short silence ensued between the two.

"Why did you abandon the sword of Castle Morne? It could have granted you the power you seek."

"It was not what I was looking for."

Vergil continued to brood while staring at the flickering light of grace.

"That girl…if I aided her, it was not by my intent."

"Oh?"

"She was weak and powerless…a pathetic excuse for a human who couldn't even protect herself."

"I see…"

He thought of Irina's body, bloodied and lifeless, leaning by the wall on the roadside where she surely remained after asking for help. It reminded him of the words he'd uttered to his brother long ago. Words that time and again, proved the strength of its claims.

"Might controls everything. And without strength, you cannot protect anything…let alone yourself."