The room was plunged into a tense silence, broken only by the distant sound of footsteps echoing in the corridor. Vergil remained seated in a dark leather armchair, legs crossed, his gaze lost in the void—or rather, pretending to be.
In front of him, Sapphire and Sepphirothy argued as if their very fate depended on it. And, in a way, it did.
"You’re not going to bow your head to any of them, Vergil!" Sapphire’s voice cut through the air like a blade, firm, almost furious. "They think they’re untouchable, but you owe nothing to any god!"
The woman with red hair and green eyes gestured intensely, pacing back and forth, her boots making the floor vibrate with each step. There were sparks in her eyes—the kind of gleam that only cos from soone who truly believes in what they say.
On the other side, leaning against the wall, Sepphirothy crossed her arms, her expression cold and calculated as always. Her posture was an absolute contrast to Sapphire’s passion—every word she spoke was asured, every glance, strategic.
"You talk as if we’re going to so casual dinner," she retorted, her voice low and controlled. "But we’re not. They’re gods, Sapphire. Gods. One slip-up and he could end up being seen as a threat."
Sapphire spun around to face her, her eyes flashing. "He is a threat!" she exclaid. "He always has been! Pretending otherwise won’t protect him."
Sepphirothy sighed, maintaining her composure with visible effort. "Arrogance isn’t a shield, it’s an invitation to death. They’re waiting for him to make a mistake."
"And you want him to bow his head?" Sapphire retorted, her voice rising. "You want him to smile and thank them while they treat him like a plaything?"
"I want him to survive," Sepphirothy replied dryly, her silver eyes reflecting the light of the room. The air between the two seed about to ignite. Sapphire took a step forward, Sepphirothy didn’t back down—and Vergil, sitting in the center of the verbal battlefield, maintained the sa neutral expression.
Across the room, Ada watched the scene in silence, arms crossed and a slight smile at the corner of her lips. She knew very well what would happen if she tried to intervene.
Between Sepphirothy and Sapphire, no one in their right mind would get in the middle.
Muttering to herself, "Oh, this is going to cause trouble..." she comnted, shaking her head.
Sapphire pointed a finger at Sepphirothy. "You think he should act out of fear."
"No," Sepphirothy replied, "I think he should act intelligently."
"And I think you underestimate what he’s capable of."
"And I think you overestimate the goodwill of the gods."
The words crossed the air like arrows, and Ada rely raised her eyebrows, trying not to laugh at the scene.
Vergil finally took a deep breath, leaning back in his chair. His blue eyes moved slowly from one to the other.
First Sapphire, vibrant as a fla about to consu the world.
Then Sepphirothy, cold as a frozen lake.
"Are we finished?" he asked, his voice calm, deep, as if speaking of a trivial matter.
The two stopped, for an instant surprised by his serenity.
"Because, honestly..." he continued, elegantly adjusting his glove, "...I haven’t decided whether I’m being advised or condemned."
Ada couldn’t resist a low chuckle. "Welco to the marriage between war and diplomacy."
Vergil gave her a quick glance, enough to make her feign disinterest, looking at the ceiling.
Sapphire snorted, crossing her arms. "I just want him to rember who he is."
"And I want him to co back in one piece," Sepphirothy replied without hesitation.
Vergil rose, the movent fluid, elegant—and, at the sa ti, charged with authority. The simple act of standing was enough to silence both of them.
He looked at each of them thoughtfully.
"To bow my head or to face gods..." he said slowly. "Curious how both pieces of advice, deep down, co from the sa place."
Sapphire frowned. "And what would that place be?"
Vergil gave a slight smile—the kind that always left everyone uncertain whether he was about to fight or laugh.
"The fear of losing ," he replied. "You just express it in different ways."
The silence that followed was almost respectful. Sapphire looked away, biting her lip. Sepphirothy, even without reacting, relaxed her shoulders slightly.
Ada sighed, smiling faintly. "Finally, sothing sensible."
Vergil turned, picking up the sword leaning against the chair. The steel glead briefly in the light.
"Don’t worry," he said calmly, almost serenely. "I know very well how to act in the presence of gods."
The silence still hung in the air, thick as the sll of incense burning on the sides of the room.
Vergil remained standing, his gaze fixed on the window, watching the curtain ripple in the wind that carried a distant premonition—sothing was moving outside. Sapphire still kept her arms crossed, trying to contain the words she didn’t say, while Sepphirothy rely observed Vergil with that enigmatic gaze, as if calculating every possible outco of what was to co.
Ada, in turn, tried to appear calm, but the way she tapped her fingers on the table betrayed the opposite.
It was then that the environnt darkened for a brief mont—as if a shadow had slid across the walls.
The candle flas flickered, and a soft, almost imperceptible whisper echoed through the hall.
From the shadows of the right corner, a feminine silhouette ford. Tall, slender, the contours of her body molded by an aura of smoke and crimson light.
Her eyes, shining in a deep violet tone, fixed on Sapphire.
"Forgive the interruption, my lady," said the lodious, slightly hoarse voice, with the characteristic drawling accent of demonic servants.
Sapphire turned imdiately, recognizing the timbre.
"Viola..." she sighed, leaning back in her chair. "I hope it’s not another disaster."
The shadow materialized completely, revealing Viola—Sapphire’s personal maid, or, as they said in the corridors, her "living shadow."
She wore a black lace dress, short in the front and long in the back, with a ruby necklace that seed to pulsate in the sa rhythm as her breathing.
She made an elegant bow, her body moving with a grace that seed supernatural.
"No, madam," she replied, without raising her gaze. "But a Valkyrie is waiting. She has co to take Lord Vergil and Lady Ada to the event."
Vergil averted his gaze from the window, slowly turning to her.
"A Valkyrie?" he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper.
Viola nodded. "Yes, my lord. She introduced herself as Brynhildr. She said she was assigned directly by Odin to escort you to the hall of Erebus."
The na made the air heavy for a mont. Even Sepphirothy raised an eyebrow.
"So old Odin is taking this seriously," Sapphire comnted, half-skeptical, half-amused. "Sending a Valkyrie personally... It’s almost a sign of respect."
"Or of surveillance," Sepphirothy replied, crossing his arms again.
Ada sighed, getting up from her chair.
"So, it’s now," she murmured. "And I still haven’t finished processing how much all of this seems like an invitation disguised as a trap."
Sapphire gave a half-smile, tilting her head.
"Welco to divine politics."
Vergil walked over to Ada, extending his hand to her with the naturalness of soone who always maintained control, even in the face of chaos.
"If it’s a trap," he said, with his characteristic icy calm, "it’s not the first one they’ve tried to set for ."
Ada took his hand, giving him a brief, knowing look.
"And it probably won’t be the last either."
Viola remained motionless, her head slightly bowed. Even in silence, there was sothing unsettling about her presence—as if the shadows around her breathed along with her.
Vergil looked at her again.
"Where is this Valkyrie?"
"At the main gate," Viola replied. "She didn’t want to co in. She said she ’doesn’t have ti for earthly luxuries’."
Sapphire laughed, amused.
"It’s the sa old Nordic arrogance. These won think the world revolves around honor."
Sepphirothy glanced sideways.
"And you think it revolves around power. Deep down, you’re alike."
Sapphire pretended not to hear, standing up and adjusting her hair.
"Well, Viola, prepare the gates. And tell Brynhildr that Lord Vergil and his wife are on their way."
Viola bowed even deeper, her body dissolving again into black smoke.
Silence returned, and everyone exchanged glances.
Ada took a deep breath, adjusting her hair, trying to disguise the tension that was beginning to grow.
Vergil adjusted his glove, a slight glint passing through his eyes—the kind of glint that announced he was, finally, ready for whatever ca.
Sapphire observed him from the side, with a subtle smile.
"Be diplomatic if you can... devastating if necessary."
The doors of the hall opened with a heavy creak, and a gust of cold wind swept through the corridor, bringing with it the tallic sll of steel and the distant perfu of northern flowers—a pure, firm, and sharp fragrance.
Vergil walked with Ada by his side, slow and controlled steps, as if every movent was calculated. The echo of their shoes on the marble floor filled the air in cadence with the soft snap of his glove, as he adjusted the collar of his dark blue suit.
Outside, the mist dissipated under the silvery moonlight, revealing the imposing figure waiting at the entrance.
Brynhildr stood at the foot of the staircase, motionless as a statue of war. Her armor was a clear silver, with details in icy blue and old gold—a perfect balance between beauty and lethality. The long, heavy cloak billowed gently in the wind, and the helt she held under her arm displayed engraved wings, reminiscent of a falcon’s.
Her long, black hair, braided with tal ribbons, reflected the moonlight like strands of sunlight lost in winter. Her eyes—blue, but a colder shade than his—observed him with calculated attention, without the slightest hesitation.
When she spoke, her voice was clear and firm, but there was an ancient, almost poetic echo in it:
"Demon King, Vergil Lucifer. Lady Ada Baal." She made a brief, impeccable military bow. "I am Brynhildr, envoy from the High Heavens. Odin has appointed to escort you to the hall of Erebus, in the na of the Celestial Tournant."
Ada replied first, with restrained politeness:
"We appreciate your presence, Valkyrie."
Brynhildr inclined her head slightly, her eyes still fixed on Vergil.
He, in turn, observed her with a calm gaze, but there was a glint in his eyes that rarely appeared—a silent, almost imperceptible interest.
Such an imposing warrior, moving with such grace... there was sothing fascinating in that contrast. She was the perfect reflection of sothing he respected—strength contained in elegance.
’She’s a living monunt...’ he thought, with a touch of irony. ’And Odin hides her on the battlefield? A waste. Maybe I should steal her just to see his face.’
Brynhildr took a step forward, raising her gaze until it t his.
And, for an instant, the air seed to change.
There was no tension. There was no challenge. Only the silent recognition between two beings accustod to being above fear.
"I have been instructed to take you safely," she said, her voice firm, almost impersonal. "The portals are already open. I hope you don’t mind the Nordic formality."
Vergil gave a slight smile—the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes, but carried an elegant danger.
"I don’t mind," he replied, lowering his voice. "As long as the journey is... pleasant."
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