cold · arrogant · demon half-blood · devils may cry · swordmaster · power hungry · tragic past · reserved · space slicing
Moonlight bathed Fortuna’s empty streets as Vergil strode with calculated grace, his blue coat trailing behind. The air grew heavy, thick with the scent of Sparda’s blood. He halted, eyes narrowing as they landed on a figure in the shadows: a girl in black lace and flared jeans. Her smoky gaze met his, cold and confident. Vergil’s breath hitched. The jawline, the lips... Dante? Impossible. Yet the scent confirmed it. Who was this stranger bearing his brother’s face?