Limgrave – Stormveil Castle – Late Afternoon

"Explain thyself!"

"I-I-it is as I s-stated, L-Lord Godrick…y-your outer army h-has been decimated."

"And thou only thought to inform me now? Useless fool!"

"W-we rushed to your side a-as soon as we f-f-found out, Lord Godrick!"

"Yet here we stand, nearly defenseless because of thine incompetence!"

Cloaked in an ornate veil, the self-proclaimed ruler of Stormveil Castle crossed his arms and turned toward an Exile Soldier.

"Call upon the Omen outcast. I wish to see this man suffer."

"Y-yes, milord!"

Altus Plateau – Erdtree Gazing Hill – Midnight

Vergil returned to an unusually silent campsite. As he idly stared at the lilting flames of grace, he found his thoughts preoccupied with Tanith and the blind devotion she held for her fallen consort. Despite feeling a sense of kinship with the serpent's quest, the pale swordsman found it hard to comprehend why the demigod chose to maintain his familial connections. This was a man who willingly relinquished everything in search of power, yet never lost sight of his family through it all. It contradicted the swordsman's philosophy and bothered him to no end.

" His attainment of power was incomplete…and yet he nearly bested me all the same."

Vergil sighed as he leaned back and retreated into the recesses of his mind. Somewhere in the fog of his swirling thoughts emerged a pair of figures. One was the vision of a man, eyes mismatched, clutching onto a tome meant only for the eyes of the damned. Another beheld the image of an angel—statuesque and majestic, hiding a bottomless pit of tendrils and malice beneath its surface. Each held the rare honour of besting and humiliating the pale swordsman. One bid his time and played the fool while goading him and his brother to clash as they were wont to do…until both were too weak to fight back. Vergil grasped his face in shame as he remembered the feeling of aged dirt scraping against his flesh as the Temen-ni-gru shifted and unraveled, dropping him into the abyss like a forgotten memory. He remembered the dull pain that shook him as he awoke beneath a pile of rubble at the tower's base…felt the frustration he had to quell upon learning that he had been outsmarted by someone he considered to be beneath him.

" Am I still so easily fooled as I was then? Have I yet again become an unwitting pawn in someone else's schemes?"

He briefly recalled what he had learned at the library…about how each demigod struggled and warred for scraps of the Elden Ring after their god, Marika, shattered it. He thought about what it truly meant to defeat them and claim their shards for himself. It was easy to be drawn by the allure of more power, but to continue this quest was undeniably a task of cleaning up after another family's mess. Vergil felt a bubble of discomfort begin to well up at the thought of resembling Arkham—a shameless fool intruding on another family's business and stealing their power for himself—yet here he was, doing exactly that.

Vergil bristled at the sight of the demon emperor Mundus. Even as an apparition in his mind, Mundus carried a presence powerful enough to shake the pale swordsman to his core. Blue flames began to erupt in the cracks of his skin once again until he saw their glow overshadowing the light of grace and he paused to recompose himself.

" I shouldn't have lost that day." Vergil clenched his fist as he suppressed the urge to vomit.

" If only I had thought things through…actually took time to rest…then perhaps…"

Flashes of painful memories repeated over and over, and through them, Vergil couldn't help but clutch the space where his mother's amulet used to be. His left hand trembled until once again, the memories subsided, and Vergil could vaguely recall the three glowing eyes staring down at him…and an outstretched hand looking to reclaim him.

" How long…will the shadows of my failures haunt me…?"

Vergil sat frozen in his memory, weighed down by an unseen force until he saw the trail of two lights—one red with a blazing flame and the other crackling with golden lightning—that shattered the demon emperor's visage. From the smoke of the visions in his mind emerged a third figure—another pale swordsman—clad in threads of crimson and ebony.

" Dante…" Vergil stared at his brother's apparition wearing the same carefree disposition he always had.

Whether through weakness of body or weakness of will, Vergil could justify his previous losses as the natural consequence of his shortcomings. The strong had always preyed on the weak, and he was no exception to the rule, much to his dismay. But to lose to his twin confounded him even more. The same dull ache pulsed in his left hand, reminding him of the time he caught Rebellion's bite and stopped the colossal blade with his fingers. Just as he looked up, his brother's apparition began to speak.

" We are the sons of Sparda. Within each of us flows his blood, but more importantly, his soul!"

" The same blood, and yet…" An endless silence loomed while Vergil blankly stared at his brother's unmoving spectre.

" Tell me…why did I lose to you?"

Dante's apparition continued to silently smile. Before Vergil could ask further questions, a familiar chime rang through the air, snapping him out of his reverie and back to reality. Through the blue mist emerged a vision of fire and gold—the maidens had returned.

"I take it that your business is concluded in Volcano Manor?" Melina asked.

Vergil silently nodded with a distinctive coldness.

"Did you manage to secure an alliance with the Manor?" Millicent piped up as she lightly dusted herself off. Ever since she recovered the use of her dominant arm, she had begun to use it more and more. The light of grace bounced off the unalloyed gold that composed its frame, drawing Vergil's eye to the curious prosthetic.

"No…I defeated their master, and they disbanded shortly after."

"Oh my…" Millicent found herself perplexed. Out of the many battles triggered by the Shattering, Rykard's forces stood the best chance of breaching Leyndell's defenses. Melina, having known Vergil for longer, was not surprised at the outcome in the least. Vergil motioned toward the prosthetic and indulged his curiosity.

"How did you come across that arm?"

"Melina guided me toward this castle through that ravine. We didn't know how long you would be gone, so we thought we'd go on a bit of a hunt."

Vergil raised an eyebrow and wryly added,

"I was unaware that Melina could literally lend someone a hand."

The two maidens looked at each other in amazement. His serious face and dry delivery betrayed the words that he spoke, but much to the maidens' surprise, Vergil had a sense of humour. Millicent couldn't hold back a smirk while Melina could only blink in silence—this was the first time Vergil had ever addressed her by name. Vergil rolled his eyes and averted his gaze. His scowl and unreadable expression showed disinterest, but to his knowing audience, it was easy to conclude that he was somewhat embarrassed by what he thought was a failed joke. He cleared his throat and without staring at either maiden, said,

"So, it seems your power has grown in this place."

"Yes. As we approach our shared goal, I find that more of my memories are starting to return. It seems my power, too, has started coming back to me."

Vergil nodded, his eyes still avoiding either maiden's gaze. "Good. You'll need it if you are to continue being of use to me. Speaking of which…" He held out his hand, and Melina knew what to do. Even if Vergil had never spoken of what had transpired in Volcano Manor, the number of runes he currently held was unfathomable to the maiden. More than any dragon he had bested so far, the great serpent granted a tremendous boon to the pale swordsman. Melina channeled them into the attributes she felt he most needed, and Vergil immediately felt it as the cracks in his skin dramatically shrank in number. While the power of runes embedded itself into the cracks of his shattered soul, Vergil started to become keenly aware of the missing pieces of the Elden Ring. It was almost as though the broken shards within him were starting to coalesce and yearned for their missing pieces to be made whole again.

Millicent could only look in amazement. Throughout her existence, she had heard tales of Finger Maidens, and their ability to impart strength and knowledge to their chosen warriors. Where some could toil and train for entire lifetimes, a warrior blessed by a maiden could gain the same attributes in seconds—though experience was something that could never be replicated. For all the mystery that swirled around Melina, her ability to manipulate runes in such a manner was one of the most perplexing. Even from a glance, Millicent could tell that Melina was far more than just a simple Finger Maiden. There was a connection she felt that painted an unspoken kinship between the two, though she could not for the life of her describe it in words. It was for the same reason that Vergil's existence had started to perplex her. When she learned that Vergil was not from this world, she started to notice something truly unsettling about her companion—like his existence was beyond her understanding.

It was clear that there was something within him that always threatened to break free, but to what extent he had control worried her and made her consider how much say she had over her destiny. Though the unalloyed needle quelled the rot within her, there was no denying that something unfathomable still had a firm grasp over her very being. Melina shot a concerned look upon seeing the young girl's grave expression and placed a hand on her shoulder as if to ask if she was alright. Millicent shook her head and snapped out, choosing instead to shed some light on Vergil's unusual behaviour.

"You may have grown in power, Melina, but what truly surprises me is how our friend here actually possesses a sense of humour."

Vergil shot a sideways glance, his expression hardening ever so slightly, and almost spitefully huffed.

"Don't get used to it."

Melina smirked. "It's good to see that even the most stoic of warriors can find moments of levity."

Vergil's expression remained still and unreadable, yet his recent display indicated that perhaps he wasn't entirely unaffected by their shared camaraderie. "We're wasting time. If your powers are returning, then we must make haste. I know how we can get through Leyndell's defenses."

Vergil unraveled his map and pointed at some landmarks; the maidens gathered around him as he did so. He pointed at specific junctions of the map and indicated the encampments where Leyndell's armies were stationed. Despite constantly itching for a challenge, the numbers amassed by the Golden Army were large enough to be noticed atop the Volcano Manor. Though Vergil had little doubts regarding his eventual victory, to do so in his current state could take days, and he knew himself well enough to foresee the boredom he would feel upon fighting the same enemies over and over. Thus, he devised a way to busy himself while dealing with the army. Melina and Millicent studied the map and the maneuvers Vergil wished for them to execute. The tactics were sound if not unorthodox, but they expected as much from the mysterious warrior. His wordless expectation was nothing if not clear; either they would clear the path as wished of them or die trying.

"We shall reconvene at these junctions and meet inside this point of the outer wall. Try not to get lost." With that, Vergil vanished in a blur while the maidens mounted Torrent.

Altus Plateau – Second Church of Marika – Noon

After searching the world for his former companion, Yura had finally reached a critical crossroads. His bones ached, screaming of a time when youth once ran rampant, and he could fight nonstop without consequence. Those days were long gone now. As he felt the rapid buildup of blood hemorrhaging out of his lower torso, he could do little but reflect on the life he could have led if only he'd listened to his own advice and fled when he had the chance. Eleonora was a formidable warrior—brutally efficient and merciless.

Through their many dragon hunts, Yura bore witness to her slow descent into obsession…the maiden losing more and more of herself the more dragons they defeated. What first started as a way of better fortifying herself against draconic threats devolved into a single-minded hunger for another fix to her growing addiction. Yura tried to support her as best as he could by looking into ways to cure her blood of the draconic affliction…only to fail her yet again when she instead pledged herself to hunt her own kind for the Lord of Blood. The more he tried, the more unrecognizable she became. Eventually, Yura could bear the sight of her no longer, and prepared to end it all or die trying…but in a rare show of cognizance, Eleonora vanished. Whether she did so out of mercy or pity, Yura would never know, but what he was convinced of was that he should have freed her when he had the chance. Time awaits no one, and now he had none to blame but himself for his indecision. Yura wiped the blood he had weakly coughed into his gauntlet and assumed a defensive stance.

Eleonora spun and swung her blade effortlessly—a show of strength befitting a true Drake Warrior. A whirlwind of strikes erupted from her bloody naginata, which reflected her insatiable hunger for more bloodshed. Yura carefully measured his movements such that he could preserve his strength whilst protecting himself from more injury. When Eleonora made the final spin to her attack, Yura saw the opportunity he should have taken years ago. Planting one foot to the ground, Yura assumed a wide stance and aimed his slender blade toward her open back. Just as he was about to thrust his blade, he saw a sickly vision of fire and felt an all-too-familiar pain worm its way through his eyelids, causing him to flinch as his blade was about to make contact. He screamed in pain and frustration as Eleonora completed her motion and deflected his blade, crouching down with her blade primed for a quick slash. Yura gritted his teeth as yellow flames erupted from his eyes, nearly blinding him. With a desperate howl, Yura channeled his remaining will into one last action and swung an overhead slash that clanged loudly against the Bloody Finger's crimson naginata. Eleonora recoiled in surprise, but then corrected her motions and landed a fatal blow on the grizzled warrior, which caused the yellow flame to fade out of existence. Yura smiled wryly as he collapsed on the ground.

"Eleonora, it seems I am no match for you…but I've learned a thing or two myself, you see."

Confused, Eleonora felt herself momentarily cleansed of the bloodlust that clouded her vision and saw her former companion collapsed on the ground. She began to weep, but Yura continued to speak with laboured breaths.

"Please, please, Eleonora…yield to the cessblood….no longer…."

The wound was too deep and severe to recover from and his innards had started to spill as he kept on speaking.

"Speak no more, Yura! Please!" Eleonora could no longer hold back the tears that welled up within her as she felt the burden of consciousness for the first time in what felt like eons. The light faded out of Yura's eyes, but his mouth continued to utter his breathless final sentiments.

"Do not stain…the immaculacy…of your sword…your flesh…your…...fire."

With his final word uttered, Yura was no more. Eleonora let out a chuckle as she hit the ground. Realizing the cost of regaining her cognition, the fatally wounded Drake Warrior could only laugh as she slowly bled out beside her fallen companion.

Hours passed and Vergil found himself short of breath after warping a short distance from the Lux Ruins. While Melina had bolstered his strength yet again, it felt as though the effects of her magic were beginning to show diminishing returns. He steadied himself with a crumbling wall and took a sip from his crimson flask, feeling the gradual restoration of his strength. As he took a few steps forward in the collapsed church, he noticed a pair of corpses—one of whom was familiar. Their blood was relatively fresh, with their wounds revealing the mortal blow each had dealt to the other. From what little he knew of the aged warrior, he was certain that he would never succumb to death unless his prey had been eradicated. Vergil knelt beside him and took the old man's sword, shook the blood from it, and returned it to its sheath. He was unfamiliar with the feeling that awoke within him as he did so and wondered what it was in humans that allowed them to persist when all signs pointed to the contrary.

Vergil scanned the other corpse and as he approached, he found that something from her affixed itself to one of his flasks. He wondered about what it was but thought to ask Melina about it when next they met. Seeing all the draconic imagery on the warrior told him that this was likely the woman Yura had been searching for. As he planted her naginata beside her, he couldn't help but notice the peaceful expressions the two wore upon their demise.

" You humans continue to perplex me…" Vergil shook his head and disappeared in a blur once again.

Altus Plateau – Dominula, Windmill Village – Nighttime

Human transportation had always been too slow for the son of Sparda. He was happy that he no longer needed to rely on Torrent, but he continued to be irked by its effect on his body. Despite his fighting style's reliance on restraint, Vergil resented the arbitrary limits that his resurrection had placed on him. As he looked at the outstretched hills, ravines, and valleys before him, he couldn't help but feel exasperated by his situation.

" To think I'd be reduced to this state…waiting on allies rather than doing everything myself," he sighed as he pulled his blade from the neck of a mounted knight. Vergil smiled while tearing off the warrior's weathered cowl and setting it aside. This was the first of several he would encounter until he was able to fashion a suitable cloak out of their shaded garments.

With every checkpoint secured, all there was to do was wait. Vergil sat atop a distant hill while the two maidens made their way through the village. If his plan was going to work, he needed to ensure that the two were up to the task. Melina and Millicent cautiously walked up the windmill village's dusty steps, keenly aware of the eerie chants of the dancing Celebrants. They seemed initially unbothered by the maidens' presence until Vergil tossed a kukri into one's skull, which triggered a sea of furious glowing eyes. The maidens stood against each other back-to-back, immediately alerted by their adversaries' stark change in demeanour. Melina assumed a low stance and ignited her dagger followed by a spinning kick and a barrage of golden arcs. Millicent lent her support by unleashing a whirlwind of strikes that utterly decimated the opposition. Vergil looked on, intrigued by their display.

"This just might work."

After a fierce battle, all that remained was the crispy sound of burning flesh crackling in the Celebrants' pyres. As the maidens ascended through the now-silent village, Melina couldn't help but feel unnerved by a nearby presence. Her suspicion was confirmed when they encountered the creature waiting at the end of the path. Black flames immediately erupted from where the creature stood, as he gathered up the energy and tossed a raging sphere that hissed as it collapsed a nearby stable. The slender figure, swaddled in a grotesque patchwork of skinned faces, shot Melina a look of unsettling recognition and then immediately diverted his gaze toward Millicent. Melina launched a volley of golden arcs while the Godskin Apostle continued to ignore her, his fury instead focused on the young Valkyrie. Millicent deflected each strike with rehearsed precision, while Melina used the opportunity to plunge her golden dagger into the Apostle's neck. The creature howled as though he had been betrayed and unleashed a fiery eruption that sent both maidens flying. Millicent quickly planted her blade into the ground and used her momentum to launch herself back at her assailant. Meanwhile, Melina followed suit with a timed somersault and dashed toward Millicent. Alerted by her instincts, Melina's gaze was drawn toward the magical sparks that erupted from the Apostle's weapon as he drew back and pushed Millicent out of the way.

"Melina!"

Millicent cried out as she saw her companion be consumed by the Apostle's maelstrom. As the Apostle continued to twirl his weapon overhead, the young Valkyrie felt the maddening rush of an all-too-familiar force tugging at her soul.

" Let go…" Millicent felt her limbs go numb, and a phantom pain coiled and writhed in the space where her arm used to be.

" Let go…" Her grip on her blade tightened, and the girl felt a torrent of emotions overtaking her senses.

" Let go of everything…" Her eyes glazed over, and the young Valkyrie felt an alien presence crawling up her spine, slowly grasping her very being like a toy left unattended for far too long. She breathlessly screamed, but her frozen throat refused to make a sound.

" This isn't…this isn't how I wanted to go." For a moment, the young Valkyrie felt the inescapable hold of despair. Her eyes welled up with tears as her body limply collapsed into a kneeling pose.

" Is this…what…Malenia felt? Did she simply…let it take over?"

Vergil quietly observed from a distance, concealed by a spell he found in a hidden tower. If the maidens couldn't cross this hurdle, then they were nothing but deadweight.

Limgrave – Stormveil Castle – Nighttime

Godrick's impatience was palpable as he waited on his throne, his fingers drumming rhythmically against the armrest. The gilded seat of power felt colder and heavier than usual, a reminder of the weight he bore as the ruler of Limgrave. His eyes narrowed as Margit the Fell Omen materialized before him. The air grew thick with tension and disdain that Godrick almost proudly wore on his sickly features.

The Fell Omen, clad in a heavy cloak of no renown, had quickly become a permanent fixture of Godrick's court since the two Lords conspired to uphold the Golden Order's supremacy. The Veiled Monarch, an enigma as his name implied, was said to have gifted this shunned ogre to act as Godrick's executioner. Despite his cursed heritage, the Omen was a reflection of everything Godrick lacked, though he would never care to admit it. "Margit" approached the throne with a measured grace, his every step punctuated by the dull echo of his stony walking stick. It was a welcome diversion from the disgraced commander's desperate cries for help.

Contrary to his monstrous stature, Margit moved with an unexpected elegance. His weathered cloak of ragged fur swept the floor as he made his way forward, the heavy fabric trailing like a shadow behind him. The walking stick, deceptively sharp despite its rocky exterior, supported his lumbering form with each deliberate step. There was a certain weariness to his movements, a testament to the centuries of battles fought and the toll they had taken on his body.

"I command thee speak, Omen."

Godrick's utterance of the word held nothing but contempt.

"I am here, as ever, thine servant. What wouldst thou have me do?"

"This lowly cretin stands before us… guilty of gross incompetence and conspiring against the Lord of Limgrave."

"Th-that's not true, Milord! I rushed here as soon as I found out. H-have mercy…please!"

"How dare thou interrupt the Lord of this castle!? Margit, for his crimes, I demand compensation!"

"Upon thine word, my Lord…" If the Fell Omen held any grudges against Godrick, and he had many, he simply refused to show it. The sickly excuse of a so-called demigod was a brash and brainless oaf—a jumped-up country bumpkin without so much as an ounce of class or refinement. Still, the man had his uses. With his misguided crusade against all Tarnished, Godrick served as an effective doorstop to all who would threaten the Golden Order's reign. The man was desperate in his attempt to inspire fear and respect, but this quality made him especially malleable to the Veiled Monarch's machinations. "Margit" sighed and felt his aged bones creak as he slowly approached the disgraced commander.

"P-please! No! I beg of you milord, please!"

Godrick rested his chin on his hands. "Hm…thou dost seem to possess a healthy pair of arms…"

"NO!" The court fell silent as Godrick forced the distraught commander to look on as his severed arms were grafted onto the ruler's inhuman frame while he helplessly bled out.

Altus Plateau – Dominula, Windmill Village – Nighttime

Millicent's body trembled and convulsed as she found herself screaming from within. Jolts of pain welled up from within her being, the suffering overshadowed only by the fury she felt toward her towering foe. Just as she felt her consciousness start to melt into the choir of voices, pillars of light erupted from where Melina had been struck, and the kindling maiden emerged from the flames. In that instant, the hilltop erupted into a chaotic dance of light and shadow.

"ENOUGH!" Melina's voice echoed as the Apostle's black flames swirled through the air and began to latch onto the flesh beneath its caster's protective covering. The leathery garb, with its bulk decorated by the distorted faces of former victims, started to give way starting from the cuts that the two maidens inflicted on the hooded monstrosity. The worn edges curled and withered, allowing the stream of reflected fire to hungrily latch onto its new victim's flesh.

Millicent, still reeling from the unexpected explosion of rot, felt the wave of Melina's light wash over her, breaking the trance that bewitched her mind. The pain that paralyzed her moments before seemed to melt away, gradually receding into the nothingness it came from. She blinked rapidly, her vision clearing, and felt the sensation gradually return to her weary limbs.

Melina hovered in the air while black sparks crackled from the seal that covered her left eye; her outstretched hand appeared to guide the Apostle's flame like a serpent coiled to strike while sparks of holy light rapidly sparked in and out of her fingertips. Millicent instinctively shielded her eyes, squinting through the intense glare. The Apostle, now fully consumed by the ebony flames, elongated his torso to cartoonish proportions and rapidly spun his weapon like a windmill to try and quench the fire. However, the persistent stream overcame his efforts; his slender and serpentine form began to twitch as the black flame devoured his very essence. Yet through it all, he adamantly refused to attack the one responsible for his suffering. Millicent gritted her teeth and forced herself upright by pushing her weight onto her grounded blade. With her opponent stunned in pain, she had found her chance.

Her body ached and her muscles screamed in protest, but Millicent's restored will overcame the now-superficial pain radiating through her limbs. She tightened her grip on her blade and closed the distance with a severing spin, piercing the Apostle's burning flesh and cutting through it with a sickening crunch. The creature gurgled with laboured breaths as it struggled to comprehend the fatal blow. Millicent's heart pounded relentlessly, the rhythmic noise beating through her ears as she twisted the blade and ripped it out of the creature's chest. With a shuddering gasp, the Godskin Apostle crumpled to the ground while the raging flames consumed him whole.

"Acceptable," Vergil matter-of-factly stated.

Turning his gaze beyond the hill, the pale swordsman spotted the rapid approach of an outer wall battalion. There was little doubt that all the commotion would draw the army's attention—Vergil was counting on it—and it was only a matter of time before the scouts called for reinforcements.

Millicent stood over the Apostle's lifeless body, heaving in ragged gasps. She could feel her adrenaline slowly fading, leaving behind only exhaustion and the ache of her wounds. As she looked up at Melina, who was gently descending from her position in the air, she felt her strength leave her and finally allowed her body to rest.

"What…did I tell you…about healing…before you…collapse?" Melina weakly muttered with laboured breaths.

The two crawled toward the hum of a nearby site of grace, already restored just as planned, and felt their wounds and exhaustion immediately melt away with the light's golden glow. They leaned back and tried to take in the starry gaze of the night sky when their break was rudely interrupted by the sound of blowing horns. The night had evidently just begun.

Altus Plateau – Rampartside Path – Late Evening

Vergil's plan was straightforward and efficient. He would warp ahead and scout out the opposition while restoring any sites of grace he encountered. His idea was to always create at least two junctions for the maidens to warp around. This allowed him to survey the field of battle while expanding the ground that the maidens could cover at every instance. Each encounter was designed to catch every section of the army unaware, from the ranged support to the infantry supporting them. The numbers were far too great for what little they had in manpower, so they instead relied on brutally precise skirmishes involving short and long-ranged teleportation. The tactic was an expanded version of Vergil's combat routine that allowed them to effectively control the fight and reposition themselves when necessary. The fact that this tactic allowed them to heal up and retreat to safety at will was not lost on Melina, though she found it hard to tell whether Vergil had intended for them to live through each battle, let alone the night.

Initially disoriented, the maidens would often find themselves thrust in the middle of a disheveled infantry every time they warped to a site of grace. Though their roles were largely guided by situational inference, their deliberate placement allowed them to quickly understand their purpose. Millicent unleashed her Waterfowl Dance as soon as she materialized from the blue mist, slashing through dozens of knights while Melina unleashed pillars of golden light to support her. Where Millicent's relentless assault cleared swaths of enemies, Melina's long-range incantations both distracted and disoriented all who remained. Melina and Millicent became each other's lifelines throughout each stage of combat, each contributing to a concerted effort that allowed them to cover each other's blind spots. Their instincts carried them through every conflict, yet they both sensed how their actions were being carefully guided like a trap waiting to be sprung.

While the maidens kept the grunts busy, Vergil sought out the commanders, whose ornate armours drew immediate attention, and assassinated them in full view of their quivering troops. This nearly always involved hurtling the high-ranking officers into the air with his inhuman strength followed by a display so spectacular that it threw the shattered army into further disarray. It was a demoralizing sight that sent ripples of chaos through the ranks of the fracturing Golden Army, setting them up for a consecutive wave of larger-scale engagements and further displays of Vergil's might. These battles were to be a declaration of his power—a proud display of the blue devil's power. What better way to conquer a kingdom, than to annihilate its largest army?

Their siege equipment? Smashed. Encampments? Sabotaged. Leadership? Severed.

Vergil warped a short distance away and watched the maidens' progress atop an overlooking cliff. Though the trio had likely only fought a fraction of the Golden Army's full might, he found himself satisfied with the way they were able to systematically dismantle it piece by piece. He proceeded to take out a leg of lamb Millicent had prepared earlier in the day but found himself unceremoniously ambushed by an Ancient Dragon before he could take a bite. He was incensed to such an extent that it was comical; the meal would have to wait, for the dragon had just made itself the sole target of his wrath. The cliffside echoed with a series of beastly howls, fiery explosions, and fierce thunderclaps that further terrified the few stragglers who remained. The night sky bloomed with draconic fury until finally, the clash of crimson lightning and azure light ceased, and another series of thunderclaps erupted then faded into silence shortly thereafter.

The scaled beast attempted to flee once her injuries became too grievous, but Vergil found himself consumed by hunger and cleaved a path to her heart through her open back. This caused the Ancient Dragon to crash back into the earth, leaving an open crater that pulsed red from her remaining lifeforce. Vergil sheathed his weapon as smoothly as he breathed, prepared to collect another heart when he noticed that something was amiss.

Unlike some of the dragons he had encountered thus far, he felt the distinct absence of a familiar rhythmic pulse—the seductive beating of a stone-scaled heart. In its place was a strange energy emanating from the dragon's remains, a potent force that dared him to approach. It was raw, primal, and almost feral…completely unlike any magic he had encountered, yet it strangely seemed to resonate with his demonic nature. Vergil narrowed his eyes and extended a hand, feeling the surge of the dragon's power flow into him. The energy was wild, untamed, and yet it responded to his will like an extension of his being. As he absorbed the Ancient Dragon's essence, he felt the displacement of space-time itself—a distortion that pulsed through the magical current that now flowed through his veins.

For a brief moment, Vergil's eyes glowed a vivid red with an intense light that reflected a small change from within. Without hesitation, Vergil focused this energy into his outstretched hand, forming a crimson glaive that materialized in his grasp. Vergil warped across the battlefield, feeling more untethered from his soul's affliction, and spotted another mounted knight in the distance. The crimson glaive, a crude manifestation of his soul, pierced through the knight's pitch-black armour with ease, sending shockwaves of crimson lightning that crawled along the ground. The rider, now dismounted from his funeral steed, had no time to react before his body crumpled from the force of the blow, crackling with the new power Vergil had harnessed.

As the pale swordsman ripped through the ranks of the opposition, his mind wandered to the distant memories of his youth, where his ambition was eclipsed by the shadow of his father's legacy. Sparda, the Legendary Dark Knight, had single-handedly fought against the legions of the underworld—a feat that Vergil had always dreamed of surpassing.

Yet, despite his preference for solitude, he could not deny that fighting alongside the maidens made for a much less tedious journey. The trio warped back and forth through every corner of the golden plain, terrorizing Leyndell's outer army until only dust and echoes remained. Soon, the outer wall would be conquered, and Vergil could claim another victory in his name. After all, this was a new world, and he now had a legend to write and uphold.