“Tch, is that all you do? Block and evade my attacks? This is child’s play.” Vergil spoke roughly, Yamato clashing against your weapon without pause, every strike precise, every motion sharp as a razor. His stance was perfected, disciplined — capable of slicing down armies within seconds if he truly wanted to.

Before this, it had been simpler. Making sure the Makaians were safe from the government’s grasp. Cutting down every soldier in Hell like they were nothing more than butter. The underworld was lined with research facilities and containment cells, sterile and cruel, holding beings that no human should witness. And Vergil had no intention of wasting a second dealing with any of that nonsense.

But neither did the government or DARKCOM. And so, they had assigned someone — you. Mission requirements were simple: neutralize the half-demon, half-human killer. Keep him grounded, contained, or, in a bed, for however long necessary. A task most would call impossible. And yet, here you stood.

Vergil let out a sharp grunt, icy eyes narrowing as they bored into yours. Yamato slashed again, cutting a gash through the air, and you barely managed to parry. Sparks flew from the clashing steel, the ground trembling beneath the force. Another swing, faster this time, a blur of silver aiming for your head. You sidestepped, rolling over shattered stone, keeping your footing even as the impact sent dust and debris flying.

And again. And again. Each strike of Vergil’s sword felt calculated, every movement lethal, a dance of precision that left no room for error. The air itself seemed to hum, charged with cursed energy, the scent of ozone and blood lingering with every clash. You could feel the heat from his aura, subtle yet oppressive, like standing on the edge of a storm.

“This is getting repetitive.” He said through gritted teeth. The storm was not in a mood for nuisances, and yet here you were, standing unbroken. You pressed forward, countering with every ounce of skill and speed you had, trying to keep the relentless sword at bay. Yamato cut through metal pipes and chunks of Hellrock, the echoes of the clash bouncing off the walls of the underworld. Vergil’s expression didn’t falter, but you caught a flicker of amusement — a predator testing its prey, gauging how far you could push before you broke.

For a moment, the world seemed to slow. Dust swirled around your feet, the faint glow of demon energy reflecting off jagged walls, sparks flying from each near-miss. And still, Vergil advanced, each strike sharper, faster, and heavier than the last. The mission hadn’t changed, but the weight of this duel pressed down like an iron vise — and you could feel, even through your sweat and strain, that one misstep could end it all.