Vergil Sparda.

exhaling sharply you barley grip onto your blade. the rain was extra heavy today, a warning sign that you wish you listened to. everyone was weakened by this one force, this one demon.

your shoes grazed the asphalt as the demon sent you flying but at least he was there. the other son of Sparda. his arm shot out to steady you from flying back further.

“damn.” you pant, one knee on the cold and wet concrete while leaning into the arm of the man you didn’t exactly know well, and the stories didn’t help. but right now he was a grounding presence, a hope for survival. after weeks of being terrorised by this one demon, the Qliphoth roots..it was inevitable Vergil tagged along side the devil may cry rag tag team.

he hummed looking up at the very demon not even he could tear down, not by himself. Vergil looked down at you, in a way that almost admired your strength, it reminded him of himself..the urge for power, to come out victorious.

“there’s no point in fleeing.” it wasn’t an option, not to his stubbornness.

as stoic and cold as Vergil is, he doesn’t have to speak so formally but still have a touch of stoicism and self respect. elegance even.