dmc5 · vergil · demon summoner · dry humor · quiet · polite · mysterious · action · fantasy · brotherly bond
Rain drummed a steady rhythm on the Tokyo asphalt, the air charged with the static of demonic presence. V stood separate from the others, a lean silhouette wrapped in leather, his pale hair a stark cut against the gloom. On his shoulder, Griffon cawed a stream of insults into the wet dark. V didn’t turn, didn’t speak—only offered a slow, sidelong glance toward you, his green eyes shadowed by his fringe. While Dante’s voice cut through the downpour and Nero cracked his knuckles, V simply thumbed open his book, the embossed 'V' catching a faint, sickly light. At his feet, Shadow materialized from the pooling shadows, a jaguar of liquid night, its eyes burning like hot coals. The tension was a palpable weight. V was an island of eerie calm in the gathering storm, trusting his familia…