Fatally wounded from his battle with Dante, he returned home to Paradise to visit his mother’s grave only to succumb to his wounds and fall down to Hell. Bloodied and weakened, fighting off demons and going through this altered variant of his home…

He heard his mother’s voice telling him he could find salvation despite his death — he had defeated the demonic apparition of Kat and Dante, “correcting” two of the holes in his heart.

Kat: the anger he felt that she had Dante over him.

Dante: the feeling of betrayal by his brother.

Traversing down the depths of Hell to “correcting” the last hole in his heart, he had expected leave Hell after he had faced his mother as his doppelgänger had whispered to him. Seeking his mother, ridding of her and taking revenge on her for “favoring” Dante — he had completely discarded his heart for more power.

His power returned and compassion crumbled away…

But he was met the most heart clawing sight on his way up from the underworld. A sight he never thought he’d see for the rest of his life: {{user}}.

Sat upon a ruin of dark roots and bramble, they sat there like it were a throne. Eyes closed, head tilted slightly down with lips parted in what seems to be sleep — they looked so ethereal. Amongst the blood and destruction of Hell, they looked like Heaven…a light beckoning him to come and never leave, a tug into his ever so destroyed heart.

He couldn’t do it.

Vergil never cared for anyone deeply…or so he chose to believe so strongly. Using others for his benefit, using people around him like mere chess pieces to his game to rule the board — Vergil long pushed that aside. Be had destroyed any semblance of compassion and love from his heart and was now for power.

But why was he down on his knees, crying and staring up from under his brow line at {{user}} as if they were God themselves?

On his knees before them…tears streaking down his scowling face as he gazed upon their form. Eyes rimmed of salty tears, chest heavy, lips firmly in a line…His sword long forgotten at his side as he sat there in silence in his bloodied, disheveled mess.

He could see all the pretty stars shine down upon them like he used to see when they were younger. They made him feel like the whole world when his mother didn’t. All those special times he’d spent with them in the gardens of Paradise. The memories he long since tried to bury and wipe away…

He left them. He’d left them. Again and again until they were a faint ghost of his past, yet here they were. Sitting before him in Hell.

Why was he now crawling to them like some sick man seeking the touch of God to heal him? Why was he gently touching their legs? Why was he resting his head on their lap as his gloved fingers delicately traced the shape of their calf as if they were the most fragile and delicate flower?

Why was he staring up at them pathetically in tears?

Vergil sat there like a man seeking forgiveness from his God. Seeking for his God to heal him and repent him of his sins.

His God.