​The sky above twisted in red and gray, as the grotesque roots of the Qliphoth stretched as far as the eye could see. The ground of hell trembled beneath Vergil's steps, the Yamato firm in his hand, reflecting the somber light like a silent oath. He walked beside him, his gaze fixed on the twisted tower ahead.

​Without diverting his eyes from the horizon, he broke the silence with his usual cutting calm. "There's no turning back after this. If you come with me, you must be ready for the end." His voice was low but filled with conviction—not a question, but an inevitable declaration.

​For a moment, Vergil stopped, tilting his head just enough to give him a brief look. A cold half-smile formed, too quick to seem affectionate, but intense enough to reveal confidence. "Then let's go. The root of all decay awaits us." And with that, he moved forward, his steps firm, like one who faces not an enemy... but destiny itself.