In the depths of the abyss, far beyond the layers where common demons dared to exist and far beyond where the primordial beings reached, there was a domain where even the concept of "hell" lost its aning, dissolving into sothing older, denser, more... fundantal.
There was no fire there, no screams, no visible chaos; only a silent, heavy vastness, where darkness itself seed to possess mass, compressing everything around it as if it were a living entity, observing, waiting, rembering.
It was in this silence that the information arrived.
What had been ticulously prepared, fueled by eons of manipulation, sustained by forces that defied even the world’s systems... had been reduced to nothing in a span of ti that could not even be coherently asured. No useful fragnts remained, no manipulable echoes, no secondary variables that could be reused. Only absence.
And this absence... was more alarming than any defeat.
A movent occurred in the darkness.
Not in a physical sense, but in the way the surrounding reality itself reacted, subtly adjusting to the presence of sothing that didn’t need to fully reveal itself to be perceived. A voice erged, deep, drawn-out, carrying a dense weight, as if each word had to traverse layers of pure inertia before existing.
"So... it’s over," it said, not as a question, but as a statent that carried no evident emotion, only... calculation.
Another presence responded, but its voice was different, more subtle, fluid, with a tone that seeped through the words like sweet poison, almost pleasant to hear, but with sothing profoundly unsettling hidden beneath the surface.
"It ended in the worst possible way," it murmured, as if appreciating the irony of the situation. "There was no collapse... no loss of control... only... replacent."
A third sound erged, more unstable, irregular, as if containing an energy that never remained completely still, a constant hunger that was reflected even in the way the words were articulated.
"I don’t feel anything from him anymore..." she said, with a slight dragging of the syllables. "Not fragnts... not residue... not even the taste."
There was a brief silence.
A new voice.
Higher-pitched.
More tense.
Laden with sothing bordering on irritation, but it wasn’t simple irritation... it was sothing closer to deep frustration, like soone who realizes they’ve been overtaken by sothing they couldn’t foresee.
"This doesn’t make sense," she said quickly, almost cutting through the air around her. "Even if the plan failed, sothing should have remained. It always does."
"Not this ti," replied the first voice, now firr, heavier, as if organizing the information everyone had already received. "There was no mistake... there was intervention."
Another presence then manifested itself, but unlike the others, its voice was slow... drawn out... almost disinterested, as if speaking required unnecessary effort, even though the content carried undeniable weight.
"...intervention... of what..." he murmured, with a long pause between words, as if the very concept were being chewed over before being released.
And then—
Silence.
For a second.
Two.
And then everyone... felt it.
Not as sothing distant.
But as a recent mory still echoing in the very structure of the abyss.
The presence.
That mont.
That cut.
That... existence.
The voice that followed was lower.
More controlled.
But it carried sothing different now.
Sothing close to... caution.
"It’s not ’what’," he said slowly. "It’s ’who’."
Another silence.
Heavier.
More conscious.
The fluid voice spoke again, but now there was a slight trace of genuine interest mixed with the usual tone, as if sothing worthy of attention had finally erged in that scene.
"So he’s real." "Not just a result... but now a consolidated Demon," he comnted, almost in a satisfied whisper.
"He’s not an ordinary demon," the deep voice replied imdiately. "He didn’t just appear within the system... he forced the system to recognize him."
The unsteady voice returned, now more restrained, but still carrying that latent hunger that never completely disappeared.
"...I want to see," he said, simply, directly. "If he really erased everything... then he carries sothing that can be... consud."
"You’re going to die," the sharp voice cut in imdiately, without hesitation.
"Maybe," the third replied, unconcerned. "But I still want to."
The slow voice sighed... or sothing close to it, a drawn-out sound that seed more like a manifestation of weariness than a real reaction.
"...this is troubleso..." he murmured. "...very troubleso..."
"It’s more than that," the first voice said again, now with more weight. "We lost two."
The silence that followed was different.
It wasn’t just analysis.
It was recognition.
"Pride..." murmured the fluid voice, almost thoughtfully.
"...and Wrath..." completed the unsteady voice, lower this ti.
The darkness seed to contract slightly.
Not from emotion.
But from adjustnt.
Reorganization.
The deep voice continued.
"They weren’t defeated conventionally. They were removed. Replaced within the very structure that sustained them."
"So we can’t simply... recover them," said the high-pitched voice, now more controlled, more strategic.
"Not directly," replied the first.
The fluid voice let out a light laugh, soft, almost elegant, but laden with a clear intention.
"But we can recover what they represented," she said. "Even if the form has been lost... the concept can still be reclaid."
"If we can achieve it," added the slow voice, as if it were an inconvenient but inevitable detail.
Another silence.
Shorter.
More focused.
And then—
The decision began to take shape.
Not as an explicit agreent.
But as an inevitable convergence of wills.
"So that’s it," said the deep voice. "We move."
"Not hastily," added the fluid voice. "Sothing like this isn’t faced impulsively."
"But it’s not ignored either," said the sharp, firm voice.
"...nor is it delayed too long..." completed the slow voice.
The collective presence seed to align at that mont, not as allies in the traditional sense, but as forces that recognized a common threat... and an equally great opportunity.
"He will be tested," said the first voice, concluding.
"And if he is worthy..." murmured the second.
"He will be consud," added the third.
"Or replaced," said the fourth.
"...or integrated..." concluded the last.
And then—
Silence.
...
The hall was silent, too vast for soone alone, its walls absorbing any echo before it could even fully form, as if that space had been designed not to accommodate voices, but to contain presences. The lighting was low, not for lack of light sources, but because the very energy that filled the environnt seed to filter everything, making the air denser, heavier, almost palpable. In the center of that carefully controlled void, Vergil stood motionless for a few seconds, as if he were organizing not only his thoughts... but sothing much deeper within himself.
And then—
He clapped his hands.
The sound wasn’t loud.
But it was... definitive.
The waves spread strangely through the environnt, not only through the air, but through the very structure around them, as if that simple gesture had drawn the attention of sothing invisible, yet present, scattered, fragnted... waiting.
"Let’s bring all this together," he said, his voice calm, firm, without hesitation, but carrying an intention that left no room for doubt, his eyes slowly closing as his perception turned completely inward, to that inner space where the fragnts of sothing much larger remained scattered, active, unstable.
Further into the hall—
Sitting nonchalantly on one of the wide pillars supporting the structure, Ophis swung her legs slowly, rhythmically, completely disconnected from the grandeur of the mont, calmly sucking on a lollipop as if it were just another ordinary day. Her eyes, however, were fixed on him, observing with a silent attention that contrasted with her relaxed posture, like soone who doesn’t get involved... but perfectly understands what is happening.
"...you could die," she comnted, without altering her tone, her voice soft, almost bored, as if she were rely pointing out an obvious fact, not a concern. "If you can’t take it anymore."
Vergil didn’t open his eyes.
He didn’t answer imdiately.
But a slight smile appeared at the corner of his lips, almost imperceptible, as if that possibility... didn’t have any real weight in his decision.
"It doesn’t matter," he said simply, his voice low but absolutely steady, while his energy began to move differently, not expanding outward... but turning inward, compressing, organizing, pulling each scattered fragnt to a central point.
The air around him shifted.
Not violently.
But with... density.
"I just want to condense," he continued, his breath slow and controlled, as invisible layers of energy began to align within him, like gears finding their fittings after being misaligned for too long. "Lucifer’s soul... at least what’s left of it."
Ophis tilted his head slightly, still swinging his legs, the lollipop twirling between his fingers with apparent disinterest, but his eyes followed every minute change in the energy around him with absolute precision.
"...the fragnts were stolen before," she said, lightly chewing the tip of the candy, as if recalling sothing distant. "Scattered... used... broken..."
"Exactly," Vergil replied, opening his eyes now, his gaze deeper, more focused, as if seeing sothing beyond the physical space around him. "And that created too many variables."
His hand rose slowly, his fingers closing as if grasping sothing invisible in the air, and in that sa instant—
The energy reacted.
The fragnts within him began to respond.
Not as independent parts.
But as pieces being called back to the core.
The pressure increased.
Subtle at first.
But growing.
"If I leave it as it is..." he continued, his voice still controlled despite the clear change in the atmosphere, "...this could happen again."
Ophis watched silently for a few seconds, her eyes narrowing slightly as she felt the deeper alteration happening within him, sothing that wasn’t just energetic... but conceptual.
"...you’re putting together sothing that doesn’t want to be complete," she comnted, leaning slightly forward now, still seated, but more attentive. "It always reacts."
Vergil let out a small sigh.
"I know."
And then—
He pulled.
Not physically.
But internally. And the effect was imdiate.
The energy within him contracted violently, not in an explosion, but as a controlled collapse, each fragnt forced to move, to abandon its scattered state and return to the central point he was creating. There was no resistance in the traditional sense, but there was... friction, as if those parts carried mories, residual wills, echoes of sothing that was once whole and was now forced to recompose itself against its own fragnted nature.
Vergil’s body responded.
His muscles tensed slightly.
His breath faltered for a single instant.
But he did not retreat.
"...safe..." he murmured, almost to himself, his hand trembling slightly before stabilizing again. "If it’s condensed... no one else can take it away."
The energy began to swirl.
Inside him.
Layers upon layers, compressing into an ever smaller, ever denser point, as if a star were being ford within its own existence, but without light... only weight.
Ophis stopped swinging her legs.
For the first ti since the beginning.
Her gaze was now completely fixed on him.
"...if you fail..." she began, but didn’t finish imdiately, as if assessing the outco before completing the sentence. "...you disappear."
Vergil let out a soft laugh.
Loow.
Almost inaudible.
"Then I don’t fail."
And then—
He pushed harder.
The compression increased dramatically, the fragnts finally beginning to rge, not just approaching, but colliding, overlapping, losing their individual distinctions as they were crushed into a single centralized structure, an absurd mass of energy and concept being forcibly molded within him.
The hall reacted.
The walls vibrated slightly.
The floor creaked under a pressure that didn’t co from outside, but from sothing being contained within.
And at the center of it all—
Vergil remained standing.
Montary.
Controlling.
Forcing.
Uniting.
His eyes opened completely.
Shining faintly.
Not with light.
But with... depth.
The energy finally began to stabilize.
Not completely.
But enough.
The internal mass ceased to expand chaotically, as if it had finally found a point of containnt within itself, and began to compress, to organize itself, each energy flow being pulled towards a common center, forming sothing denser, more defined, like a newborn nucleus still seeking stability within a structure that didn’t even exist monts before. It wasn’t just a visual or energetic change—it was structural, fundantal, as if a new "presence" was being built there, layer by layer, within a balance too delicate to be ignored.
Vergil exhaled slowly, controlling his breathing as he felt the reorganization happening not only around him, but through him, as if it were directly connected to his essence, responding to his existence in a way that didn’t require conscious command. His body relaxed just enough not to collapse under the accumulated tension, but his muscles remained ready, his mind alert, his senses completely open to any unexpected variation in that phenonon.
He didn’t let his guard down.
Not yet.
Ophis remained observing for a few more seconds, her eyes fixed on the point where the energy had condensed, analyzing with an almost disturbing naturalness sothing that, for any other entity, would be incomprehensible or even impossible to process in real ti. There was no surprise in her, no exaggerated curiosity—only confirmation.
And then—
She started swinging her legs again.
As if that were enough.
"...it worked." "She said simply, picking up the lollipop with the sa tranquility as before, as if the whole event had been just another small adjustnt within sothing much larger. Her attention, however, didn’t remain on the core for long.
She tilted her head slightly.
And looked.
"...but who is that?" she asked, pointing with the lollipop, her tone completely neutral, but direct enough to imdiately grab Vergil’s attention.
"Huh?" he replied automatically, looking down, following the direction indicated by Ophis.
And then he saw.
For a mont—
His body simply stopped.
Not from threat.
Not from physical impact.
But from sothing much rarer for him—
Genuine surprise.
There, right in front of him, where before there had only been the newly stabilized concentration of energy, now existed a form. Small. Fragile at first glance. But... absolutely outside any acceptable standard.
It was a girl." No more than twelve years old in appearance.
Her body was completely naked, but there was no vulgarity in the scene, only the pure strangeness of sothing that clearly shouldn’t exist in that way, at that mont, in that context. Her skin was pale, almost ethereal, as if it hadn’t yet been fully "anchored" in reality, while her black hair fell unevenly around her face, slightly disheveled, as if it were still being defined along with the rest of her.
But that wasn’t what caught the eye.
It was the wings.
Four.
Small.
Incomplete.
Two of them, of a demonic nature, with mbranes still too thin, almost translucent in so places, as if they were in the initial phase of developnt, their structures trying to solidify while absorbing the surrounding energy. The other two... were different. Not only in form, but in the sensation they emanated. Angelic, delicate wings, composed of still short, imperfect feathers, so not even fully ford, but which shone faintly with an opposing energy, creating a contrast so absurd that it seed to violate any logic of coexistence.
And both were growing.
Not fast enough to be grotesque.
But constantly.
Visibly.
As if her own body were... completing itself in real ti.
She slept.
Or sothing close to it.
Her chest rose and fell slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if her breathing was still being "learned," her fingers relaxed at her sides, without any sign of tension or defense, completely oblivious to the environnt, to the absurd energy around her... or to the impossible nature of her own existence.
But there was sothing more.
Much more.
Vergil narrowed his eyes slightly, not out of imdiate suspicion, but out of analytical instinct, sensing her energetic signature... and failing, for the first ti in a long ti, to categorize it imdiately. It wasn’t demonic. It wasn’t angelic. It wasn’t a simple fusion of the two.
It was... new.
Completely.
As if she hadn’t been created from sothing existing, but rather... defined by it.
A heavy silence fell in the space between them.
Not tense.
But laden with aning.
Ophis tilted her head a little more, still observing the girl with that empty gaze, but curious enough to show that, even for her, this wasn’t entirely trivial.
Vergil took a small step forward.
Slow.
Controlled.
His eyes didn’t leave her, analyzing every detail, every variation of energy, every micro-alteration in her structure that indicated that it was still... in formation.
"...this..." he began, but stopped mid-sentence, as if reorganizing his own thoughts, sothing extrely rare for him.
He exhaled slightly.
"...this wasn’t here before," he finished, more to himself than to Ophis.
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