Contrary to the arrogant yet playful impression he first left on the knight, Vergil's demeanor had transformed. A sinister purple aura enveloped him, his movements blurring into streaks of motion as he dashed around the knight with impossible speed. To the Carian knight, it was as if the intruder had vanished, reappearing only in fleeting glimpses between strikes. Moongrum instinctively raised his shield, trying to protect his vital areas, but the choice anchored him in place, forcing him to stand his ground against a raging whirlwind.
Each time Vergil zipped past, his blade carved through the knight's armor with brutal precision. Though the cuts weren't deep enough to be fatal, they were strategic—easily cracking the protective metal and rendering it less effective. Moongrum clenched his jaw, hoping that his armour might absorb some of the hard impacts, but the sizable dent on his chest plate suggested otherwise. Each strike chipped away at the knight's defenses, peeling away layers of protection, while his enemy remained unscathed.
At first, Moongrum believed his opponent's attacks were erratic, the outcome borne out of sheer luck. Yet, as the blows continued to mount without any critical wounds, he realized that the intruder's strikes were not random. They were careful and calculated, clearly intended to cripple his defenses without delivering a lethal blow. It was a message—a declaration that the two were no longer on equal footing and perhaps never were.
Vergil's speed was inhuman, each movement deliberate and precise. The knight's confidence wavered, replaced by the creeping realization that he was being toyed with, each attack a taunt from an opponent who possessed every advantage imaginable. The sinister aura surrounding Vergil grew more intense, casting shadows that seemed to flicker and then fizzle out into the abyss.
Gone was the impression that the battle could be evened. Vergil was no longer toying with his opponent; he was demonstrating his superiority, and each strike served as a reminder that Moongrum's armor, training, and resolve might not be enough to save him from what was coming. The purple aura surrounding Vergil rippled as he moved, his eyes cold and calculating, relishing the look of fear beginning to creep into the knight's eyes.
Before Moongrum could comprehend the situation, he found himself airborne, his armored body flung into the sky with astonishing force. With no stable ground to regain his footing, he could only brace for impact as he found himself flung like a candle in the wind. In the brief seconds of weightlessness, he saw his opponent floating above, launching a trifecta of shining glintblades directly at him.
Moongrum clenched his jaw, his reflexes kicking in as he raised his shield in an attempt to deflect the incoming blades. But the glintblades' caster was cunning, redirecting the projectiles to curve around his shield's protective magic field and striking him where he was defenseless. The sudden impact sent him spiraling higher into the air, leaving him disoriented and vulnerable. As he struggled to regain control, he saw the intruder spin upward, his slender blade flicking back into its scabbard while he did so. It was a puzzling move, one that left Moongrum even more disoriented—why would his opponent disarm in the middle of a battle?
Before Moongrum could process the situation, Vergil's sword reappeared, now wreathed in a crackling, crystal-blue aura. With blinding speed, Vergil drew the sword from its scabbard, the force of the impact shattering Moongrum's shield and splintering his left arm in a single, brutal strike. The sheer force sent Moongrum hurtling downward, his body slamming into the sealed door that protected his Lady's sanctuary.
The impact knocked the wind out of him, his left arm hanging limp and shattered. Blood stained the floor beneath him as he tried to crawl away, but before he could move more than a few inches, he felt the cold steel of Vergil's blade pressing against his throat. The fight had left him bruised, battered, and broken. He knew this was the end.
Moongrum closed his eyes, his breathing ragged and shallow, accepting his fate with a somber sense of resignation. The swordsman above him stood victorious, his blade steady and unwavering. The clash was over, and Moongrum's only solace was that he had done his best to protect his Lady, even if it wasn't enough to stop the blue devil from coming for her.
Just as Vergil was about to plunge his blade into Moongrum's throat, his concentration was broken by a flurry of floating books and candelabras whirling through the air. The objects, covered in a faint purple aura, moved in an erratic display. A vague sense of foreboding radiated from the grand archive, which was compounded by the unsettling echoes of children's laughter filling the vast space. Vergil found himself intrigued; the disruptive maelstrom of furniture and the aura that surrounded them hinted that a malevolent force was manipulating the objects with supernatural power.
Moongrum, wounded and battered, took advantage of the chaos to crawl back a few feet, but even he couldn't avoid the erratic onslaught. A stack of books crashed into his leg, forcing him to wince in pain. He could hear the children's laughter growing louder, the mocking echoes bouncing off the towering shelves of the library.
Vergil's instinct warned him of incoming danger, allowing him to sidestep a heavy tome that zipped past his head just as he shifted his weight. He caught another book in his grip, his eyes quickly scanning the dusty cover for a hint of a new spell, but he had to quickly drop it to avoid a barrage of flying furniture. A chair flew toward him, missing by inches as he ducked out of the way. Vergil moved cautiously through the archive, careful not to disturb the enormous stacks of books that surrounded him. Though the flying tomes and erratic furniture disrupted his focus, he knew better than to respond as he normally would. The inherent knowledge contained within these books was too valuable to risk damaging them with reckless swings or uncontrolled bursts of magic. Vergil's eyes scanned the ancient tomes as they flew past; he could vaguely recognize some, while others were written in languages he couldn't immediately decipher.
The sheer volume and variety of the collection conveyed a deep and complex history—one that far surpassed anything he had encountered so far in his journey. It was clear that the archive contained scores of priceless information—secrets, spells, and arcane knowledge that would doubtless prove useful to him—especially if he was to find a way back or make sense of the mysteries of the world that he was now in.
The Grand Library was a chaotic landscape of crumbling paper and crooked book towers. Stacks of books leaned messily against one another; some books that looked so old a stray breeze would cause them to crumble into dust. The air was thin and heavily weighed down by the dust created by the visitors' arrival, creating a dim haze that filtered the light from the overhead chandeliers. Worn cobwebs stretched across the ceiling's rafters like a torn tapestry, further evidence that this once-vibrant space had long been neglected.
Vergil navigated through the cluttered space, carefully stepping over fallen volumes and scattered leaves. He picked up a few books as he walked, flipping through their brittle pages, noting the intricate diagrams and detailed notes contained within them. Even though he couldn't immediately make sense of all the texts, he knew that they held power and wisdom that could prove useful in the coming battles.
He continued to avoid swatting away the erratic books and floating objects, choosing instead to sidestep or duck when they came close. The last thing he wanted was to inadvertently destroy a rare manuscript or ancient scroll. Despite the chaos, he maintained a calm demeanor, his movements fluid and controlled.
As he ventured deeper into the archive, the laughter and flying objects grew louder, indicating that whatever was watching him was lurking a short distance away. He kept his sword sheathed but ready, his senses on high alert. The smell of old parchment and the thick air was overpowering, a stark contrast to the grandeur this place might have once held. Vergil carefully sidestepped a collapsed bookcase, its contents spilling across the floor in a chaotic cascade. It was clear that the archive had not been maintained for decades, if not longer, and the disarray suggested that whoever had last occupied the space had left in a hurry—or perhaps even, never at all.
The closer Vergil got to the centre of the vast library, the louder the murmurs, whispers, and laughter grew. His fighting instincts screamed at him, sensing the threat that loomed beneath the cacophony of voices. He flicked a sliver of his blade from its sheath, the metallic hiss serving as a warning to whatever might be lurking in the shadows. Suddenly, the entire space was bathed in a warm, flickering glow as dozens of candlesticks lit up in unison, illuminating their grotesque bearers. These figures, with faces resembling those of children, wore expressions too unnatural to be considered human—eyes wide and unblinking, mouths twisted in unsettling grimaces. They clumsily crawled through the dusty floor, their candles casting elongated shadows that shifted eerily across the library's mountainous stacks.
Descending from the high ceiling, a robed figure appeared, wearing a conical headdress resembling a crescent moon and a large amber egg that radiated a tremendous amount of magical energy. Vergil was surprised he hadn't sensed such a powerful force earlier, a mystery that fascinated him even as he bristled at the sinister figures closing in.
The robed figure's descent was slow and seemingly deliberate, its presence commanding a silence that stilled the echoes. Vergil's grip on his blade tightened as the child-like apparitions gathered around, their candle flames dancing erratically in the disturbed air. The amber egg in the robed figure's hands pulsated with an ominous light, suggesting a power that could unleash untold havoc if not contained.
The robed figure clutched the large amber egg as if it were a fragile infant, her gaze distant and unfocused. It was as if she was entranced, her voice soft and gentle, completely oblivious to the chaos unfolding in the grand library. She held the egg close, her hands moving over its smooth surface in soothing motions, whispering her lullaby to whatever lay within.
"Hush, little culver. I'll soon birth thee anew, a sweeting fresh and pure," she cooed, her tone laden with a maternal tenderness that seemed at odds with the unsettling scene around her. The egg responded by erecting a golden barrier that encircled her. It shimmered with a translucent glow, pulsing gently in response to her murmured words.
Vergil observed her carefully, noting her odd detachment from the violence that swirled in the library. The barrier's golden light was radiant and beautiful, yet he sensed a latent power within it—a power that could easily turn from protective to destructive in the blink of an eye. The child-like apparitions continued to approach, their twisted faces locked in eerie smiles as if they were drawn to the figure's song.
The blue devil tightened his grip on his blade, knowing that the barrier posed a significant obstacle. The woman's trance-like state and her fixation on the egg presented an opportunity, but her obliviousness might also trigger an uncontrollable reaction from the barrier if she felt threatened. He needed to find a way to neutralize her without causing a catastrophic backlash, all while dealing with the encroaching minions that seemed determined to protect their ethereal caretaker.
The library's shadows shifted, the golden glow casting strange patterns across the floor and walls. The scene was tranquil yet ominous, the figure's lullaby an unsettling lull amid the encroaching chaos. Vergil's eyes narrowed as he prepared to act, his mind racing with strategies to breach the barrier without provoking an overwhelming response. Whatever lay within that egg was central to the mysteries of this library, and he would have to navigate carefully to uncover its secrets.
The childlike apparitions began to sing in a haunting, disjointed chorus, their voices weaving together in a tapestry of unsettling dissonance. Golden tendrils connected them, jumping from one body to another like arcs of ethereal electricity. Each time they sang, the golden threads pulsed, and the air around them grew thicker with chaotic energy. Tomes and furniture whirled through the library in increasingly unpredictable patterns, creating a maelstrom of motion that was as mesmerizing as it was dangerous.
Vergil watched the shifting tendrils with keen eyes, noting how they created a spherical glow around each host, intensifying as the song grew louder. The apparitions seemed to be feeding off the energy of the robed figure and the amber egg she cradled, their voices rising and falling in a rhythmic, yet eerie, cadence. The more the chorus sang, the more erratic the storm of objects became. Books flew in sweeping arcs, candelabras crashed into walls, and ancient furniture splintered into pieces. The library itself was in sharp contrast with its master's trance, a manic dance synchronized to the chanting of the ghostly choir.
Vergil's attention remained focused on the golden tendrils, searching for a pattern, a rhythm that might reveal a vulnerability. The tendrils' movements seemed to correspond with the fluctuations in the chorus, suggesting that their power was linked to the song's intensity. If he could disrupt the tendrils, perhaps he could break the harmony and restore some semblance of calm to the library.
Once Vergil recognized the pattern behind the golden tendrils, he moved with lethal precision, striking down the childlike figures one by one. Each blow severed the golden threads linking the twisted beings, causing the barrier around the floating Queen Rennala, to chip and crack. The swirling storm of tomes and furniture grew less intense with each severed tendril, and the eerie chorus faltered as Vergil dashed through the chaotic library.
His blade flashed as he targeted each host in sequence, his movements fluid and efficient, a mix of swordplay and sorcery as he summoned a flurry of glintstone blades to strike down those not within his immediate reach. The apparitions crumbled upon impact, dissipating into wisps of golden light, their dissonant voices fading into the distance. With every strike, the barrier around Rennala grew weaker, its golden hue dimming as cracks spread throughout its surface. Vergil's ruthless assault continued, breaking the connections that sustained the protective aura.
As the barrier reached its breaking point, the remaining power gently lowered Rennala to the ground, her robed form gracefully settling on the ancient library floor. The amber egg she cradled continued to pulse and sparkle faintly, but the aura that once protected her had vanished, its energy exhausted by the persistent onslaught. The library fell into a momentary silence, the swirling chaos subsiding as if the tempest had passed.
Rennala's gaze remained glued to the amber egg, her devotion so intense that she seemed unaware of anything else. Vergil, in a swift motion, used the butt of his sheath to swat the egg across the room, sending it rolling weakly across the library floor. The impact startled Rennala, but her fixation on the egg never wavered. She began to crawl after it, her voice a soothing murmur.
"Ahh, my beloved… Have no fear, I will hold thee. Patience…" she cooed, her eyes following the egg's slow roll. Her robes dragged along the dusty floor as she inched toward it, her words filled with a mix of desperation and adoration.
As the egg settled against a pile of discarded books, a thick black smoke began to rise from the point of contact. The smoke coiled and twisted, darkening as it climbed toward the high ceiling. It cast an ominous shadow across the library, hinting at a latent power awakening within the egg.
Rennala continued to whisper to it, her voice growing softer but no less fervent. "You will be countless born…forever and ever…" Her words seemed to carry a weight of prophecy, each syllable reverberating with an otherworldly resonance. The smoke thickened, spreading through the room, and filling the air with an acrid scent.
Vergil took a step back, wary of the shifting atmosphere. The library, once chaotic but relatively stable, now felt as if it teetered on the edge of an unknown abyss. The black smoke obscured his vision, and the whispers that once echoed through the grand hall now grew into a cacophony of murmurs, all originating from the egg. It was as if the library itself was waking from a long slumber, stirred by Rennala's devotion and the dark energy rising from the egg. Vergil took out his cerulean flask, making sure to drink from it to replenish his focus and tide over the demonic energy that lay dormant within him.
The black cloud gathered with malevolent intent, as a voice began to speak from within it.
"Upon my name as Ranni the Witch, Mother's rich slumber shall not be disturbed by thee," it declared. An apparition began to materialize from the dark smoke, taking on the form of Queen Rennala, but with a clarity and presence that her real form seemed to lack. The apparition's steps were deliberate, her posture upright, her gaze fixed on Vergil as the disembodied voice continued to speak.
"Foul trespasser. Send word far and wide. Of the last queen of Caria, Rennala of the Full Moon."
The words were a warning that summoned an unseen force that swallowed up the library and all its surroundings. Ripples spread across the water's surface with the apparition's every step, creating radiating circles of watery distortion. The air grew denser and colder as it continued to morph into another realm, taking away the oppressive cloud of dust and decay that had so consumed the archive. Vergil felt his skin tingle, a familiar reaction that pointed towards a disruption in the fabric of reality.
Gone was the dusty graveyard of forgotten books and secrets, replaced instead by a deluge of water that stretched into infinity. The water's surface was calm but eerily reflective, with no discernible end or edge, as if the entire battlefield was suspended in a bottomless ocean. In the distance, the light of an impossibly large full moon cast a silvery glow that dwarfed the stars that surrounded it, illuminating the scene with a distinct otherworldly beauty.
"And the majesty of the night she conjureth," the voice continued, resonating across the vast expanse.
Rennala's apparition stood elegantly on the water's surface, her royal robes cascading like liquid mercury. She pointed her glowing royal sceptre toward her target, its tip radiating with a brilliant silvery blue light. Her eyes, filled with steely resolve, met Vergil's with a cold determination that rivaled the warrior's own. Vergil readied his blade, his stance firm against the still waters.
Without further pause, Rennala unleashed a barrage of spells with relentless aggression, rivaling the furious rain of projectiles that greeted Vergil when he first entered the academy. The battlefield exploded with arcane energy; the silvery light of the full moon was occasionally overpowered by each burst of magic. As the queen attacked, her movements were fluid and graceful, each spell cast with the poise of a master sorceress. Much like the way Sellen fought on their more serious spars, Rennala's approach conveyed a strict and disciplined ruthlessness that solidified her station as the academy's headmaster.
Just as Vergil escaped the last projectile, the second assault came without warning. A sustained beam of magical energy erupted from the tip of Rennala's sceptre, slicing across the watery expanse toward Vergil. He darted to the side, barely escaping the searing light. The beam left a sizzling trail of steam in its wake, the water hissing and bubbling though it never made contact. Rennala's onslaught continued. With a flick of her sceptre, she conjured a pale icy mass that exploded into crystalline shards, the frozen fragments scattering and darting about in all directions.
Vergil felt his legs straining as he ducked, rolled, and sidestepped each spell—weaving through the chaos, and deflecting the smaller shards with his enchanted scabbard. Piercing daggers of icy crystal were swatted away with the flats of his slender blade, each impact ringing against the rhythmic splashing of water that announced the combatants' every step. Rennala glided across the battlefield with icy confidence, her robes flowing gracefully, as she expertly conjured a rain of stars. The swarm of projectiles shot forward like celestial arrows, each one glowing with an intense blue light.
Vergil's reflexes constantly kept him one step ahead, allowing him to dodge the rain of stars and send his own volley of glintblades toward the queen. However, each attack was met with fierce resistance. Wearing an intense yet disaffected expression, Rennala spun her scepter in front of her, deflecting the blades and reducing them into tiny clouds of blue smoke. The queen's defense was formidable, her movements almost like a dance as she redirected Vergil's attacks with calculated precision. Vergil couldn't help but smirk at the familiar maneuver, for it seemed he wasn't the only one to use such a tactic to block incoming projectiles.
The battlefield was a storm of light and magic, the still waters contrasting against the swirling chaos above. Rennala's attacks were unrelenting, her resolve unwavering. Yet Vergil remained undeterred, his eyes carefully observing the queen's every move. He knew that to defeat her, he would have to find a way to break her guard. A sinister bluish flame began to spark into life along Vergil's forearms—something he immediately dismissed, for he did not wish to entertain the idea of using the tainted energies that coursed through his veins.
Rennala spun in the air, conjuring a miniature moon that approached Vergil with a slow but ominous inevitability. Its silvery glow illuminated the battlefield, casting distorted shadows on the water's surface as it advanced. Vergil, already busy dodging and deflecting Rennala's other projectiles, found himself pressed for time as he continued to counter her arcane barrage with his own.
But while he was busy handling the onslaught of attacks, Rennala slammed her sceptre into the ground, causing a large sigil to bloom beneath her feet. The sigil pulsed with energy, and from it emerged a pack of spectral wolves, their forms translucent yet vicious. The wolves attacked with a trained ferocity as they attempted to surround Vergil, lunging at him from different angles.
Even still, Rennala continued her ruthless display of skill and sorcery. With a hazy roar, a Bloodhound Knight materialized from the sigil, darting around the field with unnatural speed, its greatsword reflecting the moonlight's ethereal glow. The knight's erratic movements made it difficult to predict, but Vergil was no stranger to its antics. He adjusted his stance, swatting the knight away like a gnat every time it burst out from the shadows.
Rennala then ignited her scepter with her own spectral greatsword and threw it like a discus, letting it hover as if controlled by an unseen force. This unexpected move caught Vergil's attention, as it reminded him of a technique he once used against his twin. Realizing that the scepter might be key to disrupting her summoning, he ignited the spectral blade at the tip of his staff and hurled it toward the floating scepter in a similar manner. The blade struck with pinpoint accuracy, locking the sceptre in place, its energy field sparking as it was caught in the staff's vortex.
With the sceptre momentarily contained, Vergil turned his attention to the spectral wolves. He moved with rapid precision, each strike of his blade cutting through the lupine spirits with ease. The wolves dispersed into wisps of light on contact, their rabid growls replaced by silence. The Bloodhound Knight lunged at Vergil, but the swordsman's nimble dodges and counterattacks left the knight struggling to maintain his assault. Vergil's movements were fluid and strategic, his combat prowess apparent as he dispatched the knight with a series of well-timed strikes. With the summons defeated, Vergil turned his attention back to Rennala, who seemed unfazed by the loss of her minions. The miniature moon continued its slow approach, and the locked sceptre began to tremble as if attempting to break free.
In an unexpected turn, Rennala recalled her sceptre, leaving Vergil's staff to tumble from the air inert as he willed it to return to him with a gesture. The spectral blade spun around him, acting as another barrier that blocked a series of crystalline shards while Vergil rolled away from Rennala's moon. A geyser of water exploded where it struck, which created an opening that the blue devil made sure to capitalize on. He threw his scabbard like a spear toward the Queen of the Full Moon, who as expected swatted it away using her sceptre. This allowed Vergil to dash inches away from Rennala, but as he was about to slash at the apparition, she slammed her sceptre at the water's surface once again, as she declared:
"Come forth, Oath-sworn giant."
A large creature materialized from the air, using its weight to amplify the force behind its blow. Vergil intercepted the beast, slashing it from the nave to the chops before it could land. The creature landed with a heavy thud, displacing the bottomless pool with a trembling ripple before it disappeared in a white mist. Just then, Rennala launched a barrage of crystal spears followed by a pair of glintstone comets that whistled through the air as they scorched the waters beneath. Vergil grabbed his staff, his spectral blade still ignited and slashed at the magic spears in tandem with his slender blade. He shifted his neck to the side, narrowly dodging a shard that still managed to cut a crimson line across his cheek. The demonic energy that continued to spill out of him scorched the blood that the attack had drawn, but it did nothing to close the wound. Though his injury still closed supernaturally fast, Vergil found that he had to focus on it now as opposed to having it heal instantly. He grunted with frustration as Rennala summoned the biggest sigil he had seen from the master sorceress.
"Come, Oath-sworn dragon!"
A stream of fire emerged, causing the water to sizzle just as Vergil dashed out of the way. The bottomless pool rippled with chaotic fervour as the dragon descended from the skies and landed on its shimmering surface.
Great, another one.
Rennala resumed her attacks once the dragon began to approach its meal with bestial fervour. Another rain of stars descended from the sky as both caster and summon attacked in unison. The gaps in the dragon's mouth started to crackle with fiery energy, sparks escaping the narrow slits with the spirit's every breath. While the approaching wave would have effectively evaporated most warriors' resolve, Vergil stood his ground with furrowed brows and a focused expression. Blue arcs of demonic fury endlessly erupted from cracks of his porcelain visage, its incessant hiss a constant reminder of the power he had yet to recover. Unlike his last confrontation with a dragon, Vergil knew not to rely upon this tainted power exclusively. For him, to fall once more under Mundus' thrall was a fate worse than death, and he vehemently refused to suffer the humiliation ever again. Yet despite his ability to match the Queen of the Full Moon blow for blow, they remained in a tense stalemate, each refusing to give the other ground. Though a mere illusion, the queen fought incredibly well, and Vergil was impressed that a mere human could display such a show of power, even if what he was fighting was nothing more than a memory.
Vergil paused in thought while absentmindedly deflecting a furious swipe of the dragon's ghostly talons. With his joints aching and his clothes both bloodied and burnt, Vergil reevaluated his position. Rennala had shown him that he still had much to learn about glintstone sorcery, and this duel had proven to him that there was indeed much power to be gained in this land. Despite the realization, Vergil was frustrated with how he had been cowering away from his birthright, afraid that the smallest amount of misuse would revert him into Mundus' slave. Once a proud son of Sparda, Vergil could only lower himself in shame, for not only had the demon emperor taken away his life and agency, but he had also denied him of his very nature, his demonic power now a reminder of his years of forced servitude.
No more.
A stray thought sparked into being from the unseen depths of Vergil's consciousness, clawing its way out. He did not know where it came from, but it filled him with renewed vigour as he started to hack away at the spectral summon.
Vergil assumed a low posture while sheathing his katana, having decided on his next course of action. Sidestepping a glintstone comet, he took a sip from his cerulean flask as he ignited the tip of his staff once again into an ethereal broadsword. The teal glow of his mirage blade gradually darkened with a shade of purple, as blue flames began to envelop Vergil's arms. His eyes glowed a haunting red that pierced through the endless sea of blue that surrounded him.
"Ahhhhhh!"
Vergil charged toward the dragon, who did not hesitate to breathe a stream of fire into its target while Rennala charged her sustained beam. The combination of attacks burned away the prison rags that once adorned Vergil's body, but he did not care. While the magic stream singed his pale flesh, the dragon's fire had little effect on the demon, whose power over flames far exceeded the dragon's own. The summoned beast whimpered before vanishing in a cloud of mist, as Vergil thrust his spectral blade straight into its mouth and through its neck. With a wave of his hand, a swarm of purple swords circled around Rennala's apparition, striking her in unison when Vergil clenched his fist. Vergil stood upright with his staff blade pointed down and drew his slender blade, rushing toward the queen as she fell to her knees. The queen tossed her staff with a telekinetic wave, its purpose immediately denied when Vergil threw his staff blade in response and locked it into place. The surrounding water splashed when Vergil plunged his katana into the spectre's chest and saw the fierce monarch's gaze remain fixed on his while it and the dimension that contained them began to evaporate back into the black cloud that birthed them into existence.
"Oh little Ranni, my dear daughter…"
The monarch's eyes softened as she spoke, the silvery glow of the moonlight piercing through her now translucent body.
"Weave thy night into being…"
Vergil's red glowing eyes started to dim as he turned toward the watchful moon on the horizon, bathing in its soft light as it cast his true form's shadow over the boundless pool.