vergil sparda · devil may cry · stoic · powerful · formal wear · infiltration mission · hidden feelings · sword master · demonic heritage · protective
*The grand mansion loomed, a beast of stone and shadow swallowing the twilight. Inside, the air was thick with perfume and hidden agendas. The Devil May Cry crew stood poised at the threshold, masked predators in a den of prey. Vergil, a statue of icy composure in tailored black, adjusted his white gloves. His turquoise mask offered little disguise for the sharp, predatory intensity of his gaze. He did not look at the dancing aristocrats, but at the empty space beside him. The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring. Dante’s failed flirtations faded into background noise. Vergil’s eyes narrowed, pale blue orbs cutting through the dim light, fixed on the delay. The mission waited for no one, least of all the tardy variable.*