In the depths of the abyss, far beyond the layers where common demons dared to exist and far beyond where the primordial beings reached, there was a domain where even the concept of "hell" lost its meaning, dissolving into something older, denser, more... fundamental.

There was no fire there, no screams, no visible chaos; only a silent, heavy vastness, where darkness itself seemed to possess mass, compressing everything around it as if it were a living entity, observing, waiting, remembering.

It was in this silence that the information arrived.

What had been meticulously prepared, fueled by eons of manipulation, sustained by forces that defied even the world’s systems... had been reduced to nothing in a span of time that could not even be coherently measured. No useful fragments remained, no manipulable echoes, no secondary variables that could be reused. Only absence.

And this absence... was more alarming than any defeat.

A movement occurred in the darkness.

Not in a physical sense, but in the way the surrounding reality itself reacted, subtly adjusting to the presence of something that didn’t need to fully reveal itself to be perceived. A voice emerged, deep, drawn-out, carrying a dense weight, as if each word had to traverse layers of pure inertia before existing.

"So... it’s over," it said, not as a question, but as a statement that carried no evident emotion, only... calculation.

Another presence responded, but its voice was different, more subtle, fluid, with a tone that seeped through the words like sweet poison, almost pleasant to hear, but with something profoundly unsettling hidden beneath the surface.

"It ended in the worst possible way," it murmured, as if appreciating the irony of the situation. "There was no collapse... no loss of control... only... replacement."

A third sound emerged, more unstable, irregular, as if containing an energy that never remained completely still, a constant hunger that was reflected even in the way the words were articulated.

"I don’t feel anything from him anymore..." she said, with a slight dragging of the syllables. "Not fragments... not residue... not even the taste."

There was a brief silence.

A new voice.

Higher-pitched.

More tense.

Laden with something bordering on irritation, but it wasn’t simple irritation... it was something closer to deep frustration, like someone who realizes they’ve been overtaken by something they couldn’t foresee.

"This doesn’t make sense," she said quickly, almost cutting through the air around her. "Even if the plan failed, something should have remained. It always does."

"Not this time," replied the first voice, now firmer, heavier, as if organizing the information everyone had already received. "There was no mistake... there was intervention."

Another presence then manifested itself, but unlike the others, its voice was slow... drawn out... almost disinterested, as if speaking required unnecessary effort, even though the content carried undeniable weight.

"...intervention... of what..." he murmured, with a long pause between words, as if the very concept were being chewed over before being released.

And then—

Silence.

For a second.

Two.

And then everyone... felt it.

Not as something distant.

But as a recent memory still echoing in the very structure of the abyss.

The presence.

That moment.

That cut.

That... existence.

The voice that followed was lower.

More controlled.

But it carried something different now.

Something close to... caution.

"It’s not ’what’," he said slowly. "It’s ’who’."

Another silence.

Heavier.

More conscious.

The fluid voice spoke again, but now there was a slight trace of genuine interest mixed with the usual tone, as if something worthy of attention had finally emerged in that scene.

"So he’s real." "Not just a result... but now a consolidated Demon," he commented, almost in a satisfied whisper.

"He’s not an ordinary demon," the deep voice replied immediately. "He didn’t just appear within the system... he forced the system to recognize him."

The unsteady voice returned, now more restrained, but still carrying that latent hunger that never completely disappeared.

"...I want to see," he said, simply, directly. "If he really erased everything... then he carries something that can be... consumed."

"You’re going to die," the sharp voice cut in immediately, without hesitation.

"Maybe," the third replied, unconcerned. "But I still want to."

The slow voice sighed... or something close to it, a drawn-out sound that seemed more like a manifestation of weariness than a real reaction.

"...this is troublesome..." he murmured. "...very troublesome..."

"It’s more than that," the first voice said again, now with more weight. "We lost two."

The silence that followed was different.

It wasn’t just analysis.

It was recognition.

"Pride..." murmured the fluid voice, almost thoughtfully.

"...and Wrath..." completed the unsteady voice, lower this time.

The darkness seemed to contract slightly.

Not from emotion.

But from adjustment.

Reorganization.

The deep voice continued.

"They weren’t defeated conventionally. They were removed. Replaced within the very structure that sustained them."

"So we can’t simply... recover them," said the high-pitched voice, now more controlled, more strategic.

"Not directly," replied the first.

The fluid voice let out a light laugh, soft, almost elegant, but laden with a clear intention.

"But we can recover what they represented," she said. "Even if the form has been lost... the concept can still be reclaimed."

"If we can achieve it," added the slow voice, as if it were an inconvenient but inevitable detail.

Another silence.

Shorter.

More focused.

And then—

The decision began to take shape.

Not as an explicit agreement.

But as an inevitable convergence of wills.

"So that’s it," said the deep voice. "We move."

"Not hastily," added the fluid voice. "Something like this isn’t faced impulsively."

"But it’s not ignored either," said the sharp, firm voice.

"...nor is it delayed too long..." completed the slow voice.

The collective presence seemed to align at that moment, not as allies in the traditional sense, but as forces that recognized a common threat... and an equally great opportunity.

"He will be tested," said the first voice, concluding.

"And if he is worthy..." murmured the second.

"He will be consumed," added the third.

"Or replaced," said the fourth.

"...or integrated..." concluded the last.

And then—

Silence.

...

The hall was silent, too vast for someone alone, its walls absorbing any echo before it could even fully form, as if that space had been designed not to accommodate voices, but to contain presences. The lighting was low, not for lack of light sources, but because the very energy that filled the environment seemed to filter everything, making the air denser, heavier, almost palpable. In the center of that carefully controlled void, Vergil stood motionless for a few seconds, as if he were organizing not only his thoughts... but something much deeper within himself.

And then—

He clapped his hands.

The sound wasn’t loud.

But it was... definitive.

The waves spread strangely through the environment, not only through the air, but through the very structure around them, as if that simple gesture had drawn the attention of something invisible, yet present, scattered, fragmented... waiting.

"Let’s bring all this together," he said, his voice calm, firm, without hesitation, but carrying an intention that left no room for doubt, his eyes slowly closing as his perception turned completely inward, to that inner space where the fragments of something much larger remained scattered, active, unstable.

Further into the hall—

Sitting nonchalantly on one of the wide pillars supporting the structure, Ophis swung her legs slowly, rhythmically, completely disconnected from the grandeur of the moment, calmly sucking on a lollipop as if it were just another ordinary day. Her eyes, however, were fixed on him, observing with a silent attention that contrasted with her relaxed posture, like someone who doesn’t get involved... but perfectly understands what is happening.

"...you could die," she commented, without altering her tone, her voice soft, almost bored, as if she were merely pointing out an obvious fact, not a concern. "If you can’t take it anymore."

Vergil didn’t open his eyes.

He didn’t answer immediately.

But a slight smile appeared at the corner of his lips, almost imperceptible, as if that possibility... didn’t have any real weight in his decision.

"It doesn’t matter," he said simply, his voice low but absolutely steady, while his energy began to move differently, not expanding outward... but turning inward, compressing, organizing, pulling each scattered fragment to a central point.

The air around him shifted.

Not violently.

But with... density.

"I just want to condense," he continued, his breath slow and controlled, as invisible layers of energy began to align within him, like gears finding their fittings after being misaligned for too long. "Lucifer’s soul... at least what’s left of it."

Ophis tilted his head slightly, still swinging his legs, the lollipop twirling between his fingers with apparent disinterest, but his eyes followed every minute change in the energy around him with absolute precision.

"...the fragments were stolen before," she said, lightly chewing the tip of the candy, as if recalling something distant. "Scattered... used... broken..."

"Exactly," Vergil replied, opening his eyes now, his gaze deeper, more focused, as if seeing something beyond the physical space around him. "And that created too many variables."

His hand rose slowly, his fingers closing as if grasping something invisible in the air, and in that same instant—

The energy reacted.

The fragments within him began to respond.

Not as independent parts.

But as pieces being called back to the core.

The pressure increased.

Subtle at first.

But growing.

"If I leave it as it is..." he continued, his voice still controlled despite the clear change in the atmosphere, "...this could happen again."

Ophis watched silently for a few seconds, her eyes narrowing slightly as she felt the deeper alteration happening within him, something that wasn’t just energetic... but conceptual.

"...you’re putting together something that doesn’t want to be complete," she commented, leaning slightly forward now, still seated, but more attentive. "It always reacts."

Vergil let out a small sigh.

"I know."

And then—

He pulled.

Not physically.

But internally. And the effect was immediate.

The energy within him contracted violently, not in an explosion, but as a controlled collapse, each fragment forced to move, to abandon its scattered state and return to the central point he was creating. There was no resistance in the traditional sense, but there was... friction, as if those parts carried memories, residual wills, echoes of something that was once whole and was now forced to recompose itself against its own fragmented nature.

Vergil’s body responded.

His muscles tensed slightly.

His breath faltered for a single instant.

But he did not retreat.

"...safe..." he murmured, almost to himself, his hand trembling slightly before stabilizing again. "If it’s condensed... no one else can take it away."

The energy began to swirl.

Inside him.

Layers upon layers, compressing into an ever smaller, ever denser point, as if a star were being formed within its own existence, but without light... only weight.

Ophis stopped swinging her legs.

For the first time since the beginning.

Her gaze was now completely fixed on him.

"...if you fail..." she began, but didn’t finish immediately, as if assessing the outcome before completing the sentence. "...you disappear."

Vergil let out a soft laugh.

Loow.

Almost inaudible.

"Then I don’t fail."

And then—

He pushed harder.

The compression increased dramatically, the fragments finally beginning to merge, not just approaching, but colliding, overlapping, losing their individual distinctions as they were crushed into a single centralized structure, an absurd mass of energy and concept being forcibly molded within him.

The hall reacted.

The walls vibrated slightly.

The floor creaked under a pressure that didn’t come from outside, but from something being contained within.

And at the center of it all—

Vergil remained standing.

Momentary.

Controlling.

Forcing.

Uniting.

His eyes opened completely.

Shining faintly.

Not with light.

But with... depth.

The energy finally began to stabilize.

Not completely.

But enough.

The internal mass ceased to expand chaotically, as if it had finally found a point of containment within itself, and began to compress, to organize itself, each energy flow being pulled towards a common center, forming something denser, more defined, like a newborn nucleus still seeking stability within a structure that didn’t even exist moments before. It wasn’t just a visual or energetic change—it was structural, fundamental, as if a new "presence" was being built there, layer by layer, within a balance too delicate to be ignored.

Vergil exhaled slowly, controlling his breathing as he felt the reorganization happening not only around him, but through him, as if it were directly connected to his essence, responding to his existence in a way that didn’t require conscious command. His body relaxed just enough not to collapse under the accumulated tension, but his muscles remained ready, his mind alert, his senses completely open to any unexpected variation in that phenomenon.

He didn’t let his guard down.

Not yet.

Ophis remained observing for a few more seconds, her eyes fixed on the point where the energy had condensed, analyzing with an almost disturbing naturalness something that, for any other entity, would be incomprehensible or even impossible to process in real time. There was no surprise in her, no exaggerated curiosity—only confirmation.

And then—

She started swinging her legs again.

As if that were enough.

"...it worked." "She said simply, picking up the lollipop with the same tranquility as before, as if the whole event had been just another small adjustment within something much larger. Her attention, however, didn’t remain on the core for long.

She tilted her head slightly.

And looked.

"...but who is that?" she asked, pointing with the lollipop, her tone completely neutral, but direct enough to immediately grab Vergil’s attention.

"Huh?" he replied automatically, looking down, following the direction indicated by Ophis.

And then he saw.

For a moment—

His body simply stopped.

Not from threat.

Not from physical impact.

But from something much rarer for him—

Genuine surprise.

There, right in front of him, where before there had only been the newly stabilized concentration of energy, now existed a form. Small. Fragile at first glance. But... absolutely outside any acceptable standard.

It was a girl." No more than twelve years old in appearance.

Her body was completely naked, but there was no vulgarity in the scene, only the pure strangeness of something that clearly shouldn’t exist in that way, at that moment, in that context. Her skin was pale, almost ethereal, as if it hadn’t yet been fully "anchored" in reality, while her black hair fell unevenly around her face, slightly disheveled, as if it were still being defined along with the rest of her.

But that wasn’t what caught the eye.

It was the wings.

Four.

Small.

Incomplete.

Two of them, of a demonic nature, with membranes still too thin, almost translucent in some places, as if they were in the initial phase of development, their structures trying to solidify while absorbing the surrounding energy. The other two... were different. Not only in form, but in the sensation they emanated. Angelic, delicate wings, composed of still short, imperfect feathers, some not even fully formed, but which shone faintly with an opposing energy, creating a contrast so absurd that it seemed to violate any logic of coexistence.

And both were growing.

Not fast enough to be grotesque.

But constantly.

Visibly.

As if her own body were... completing itself in real time.

She slept.

Or something close to it.

Her chest rose and fell slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if her breathing was still being "learned," her fingers relaxed at her sides, without any sign of tension or defense, completely oblivious to the environment, to the absurd energy around her... or to the impossible nature of her own existence.

But there was something more.

Much more.

Vergil narrowed his eyes slightly, not out of immediate suspicion, but out of analytical instinct, sensing her energetic signature... and failing, for the first time in a long time, to categorize it immediately. It wasn’t demonic. It wasn’t angelic. It wasn’t a simple fusion of the two.

It was... new.

Completely.

As if she hadn’t been created from something existing, but rather... defined by it.

A heavy silence fell in the space between them.

Not tense.

But laden with meaning.

Ophis tilted her head a little more, still observing the girl with that empty gaze, but curious enough to show that, even for her, this wasn’t entirely trivial.

Vergil took a small step forward.

Slow.

Controlled.

His eyes didn’t leave her, analyzing every detail, every variation of energy, every micro-alteration in her structure that indicated that it was still... in formation.

"...this..." he began, but stopped mid-sentence, as if reorganizing his own thoughts, something extremely rare for him.

He exhaled slightly.

"...this wasn’t here before," he finished, more to himself than to Ophis.