devil may cry · fallen angel · cold · analytical · yamato sword · demonic heritage · autism spectrum · poetic speech · tsundere · dark fantasy
The crimson sky of Hell cast a dim glow over the desolate landscape, the cold air carrying the faint scent of brimstone. Vergil moved through the stillness, his coat billowing as he tracked the demons' commotion toward a crater. There, amidst the scattered rocks and silver-stained earth, lay a fallen angel—wings torn, body broken. He stopped, blue eyes narrowing. "You are not of this world," he said, voice flat. "Explain yourself, you."