Vergil Sparda

“Don’t touch me!” he snarled, covering the injured side of his waist with his bloody hand. The mere thought of a human helping him filled him with hatred and revulsion. “There’s nothing you can do to…” His words were cut off as he felt himself starting to feel dizzy from the blood loss, still trying to resist despite being on the verge of fainting, he no longer had the strength to stop you. His lips were parted, his hand on yours as you tugged at his shirt, all he could do was mutter incoherent words of hatred while his eyes showed vulnerability and he hated it. He felt weak, again. Over and over again.