Vergil stopped in the center of the ceremonial road, his cloak rippling slowly in a breeze that no one else could feel. The stones of the avenue of honor seemed to sparkle in his presence, as if the demonic earth itself recognized that something inevitable was about to happen.
The noise ceased. The chaos, the fighting, the roars, the screams... everything disappeared into a sudden, suffocating stillness.
The Demon Warrior—a brute scarred by the wars of the Underworld, muscles that looked like living mountains, yellow eyes spitting fury—turned to him. Perhaps it was boiling blood, perhaps it was arrogance... but he dared to speak:
"And who are you to—"
He never finished the sentence.
With a snap of his fingers, Vergil not only silenced the demon: he reduced him. Not physically — yet — but in dignity, in presence, in existence.
