There was something about that word that wasn’t just about the sound.

"Progenitor."

It carried more than just meaning—it carried... weight. A concept too ancient to be explained simply, yet direct enough to be understood by those who knew what to look for. And, at that moment, even without being spoken aloud, it imposed itself on the environment as a truth that needed no external validation.

Progenitors weren’t just creators.

They were origin.

Not in a symbolic sense, not as figures who inspired or led... but as absolute starting points. Beings who not only belonged to a race, but who had the power to initiate a new one. To establish a lineage where there was nothing before, or to completely rewrite an existing one, altering its base, its structure, its continuity.

They didn’t just mold flesh.

They rewrote existence.

For a progenitor, the concept of "species" wasn’t fixed. It wasn’t an immutable rule. It was... malleable. Something that could be altered, refined, adapted according to their will. A humanoid being, before one of them, was not an individual bound to their own nature, but an open structure, a code that could be rewritten from its most fundamental base.

And this rewriting was not limited to the physical.

It was never limited.

The flesh changed, yes. Bones, blood, form—everything could be adjusted to reflect the new imposed nature. But that was only the surface. The true power of a progenitor lay deeper. Much deeper.

In the essence.

In the soul.

They didn’t just transform what someone was on the outside—they transformed what that being was in its totality. Their identity, their origin, their very connection to the world was altered to align with that new lineage. It wasn’t a superficial adaptation. It was a complete replacement.

And yet—

It wasn’t something done carelessly.

Because there was... pride.

Something inherent.

Progenitors carried within themselves an absolute certainty about their own nature. It wasn’t empty arrogance, nor an inflated ego without foundation. It was a profound recognition of what they were and what they represented. They didn’t follow. They didn’t submit. They didn’t bow down.

Not because they couldn’t.

But because... it simply didn’t make sense.

To bow down would imply recognizing something above.

And, for a progenitor, that was a direct contradiction to their own existence.

They were the beginning.

And the beginning doesn’t kneel.

This same essence was reflected in everything they created. Each being generated, each lineage initiated, carried fragments of this identity, this strength, this structural independence. They weren’t empty creations. They were extensions of a will that refused to be inferiorized.

Therefore—

Creating a body wasn’t difficult.

Creating a structure that could withstand divine and demonic power wasn’t impossible.

For an ordinary person, that would be a paradox. An inevitable conflict between opposing forces. Something unstable, prone to collapse. But for a parent... it was just another variable to be adjusted.

Another equation.

Another creation.

Because in the end—

What defined a parent wasn’t just power.

It was authority over that which defines power itself.

And in that moment, in that space, with a newly created body before them—

That wasn’t theory.

It was proof.

...

The silence that followed that demonstration was no longer just impact—it was assimilation. The presence of that newly created body occupied the space like something that shouldn’t exist, and yet it did, with a disconcerting stability. There were no apparent flaws, no energy collapse, not even a slight oscillation to betray improvisation. It was complete. Functional. Real. And that, more than anything else, was what made it all unsettling for those who truly understood what was being done there.

Vergil, on the other hand, didn’t seem to share that feeling. For him, it was already resolved the moment he decided to do it. There was no explicit pride, no need for validation. Just... continuity. His fingers moved again, this time without a snap, without announcement, just a simple gesture as his hand rose slightly in front of his body.

And then—

Freyja’s soul came back to life.

Not as before, dispersed, stored, or compressed. But present. Manifested.

The golden sphere appeared above her palm, small at first glance, but radiating an intensity that immediately altered the perception of the surroundings. It wasn’t just light—it was identity. It was memory, power, essence condensed into a form that shouldn’t be manipulated so easily. Small currents of energy escaped from its surface like living filaments, pulsing in their own rhythm, like a heart that still refused to accept its own death.

Sephirothy held her breath without realizing it.

Sapphire tilted her head slightly, observing with renewed interest.

Lilith—

Lilith moved.

One step forward, almost instinctive.

"Vergil—"

But he was already looking at the soul.

Not as someone admiring something beautiful.

But as someone analyzing a mechanism.

"It’s time to fulfill the contract," he said, his voice calm, without any elevation, as if he were merely following an inevitable logical sequence.

The energy around his hand began to shift again, not in volume, but in function. The golden sphere responded immediately, its surface vibrating with greater intensity, as if recognizing what was about to happen. There was no conscious resistance—only reaction.

"Don’t do it immediately because—"

Lilith began.

But she didn’t finish.

Vergil moved his hand.

And the world responded.

The distance between soul and body ceased to exist as a relevant concept. There was no visible displacement, no trajectory, no transition. It was as if the point where the soul was and the point where the body existed had been redefined as the same place.

And then—

The insertion happened.

Without explosion.

Without spectacle.

But with absolute precision.

The body reacted the instant the soul was integrated. First, a slight tremor ran through its structure, like an involuntary reflex, an echo of the contact between two existences that had been separated and were now forced to coexist again under new rules. The skin lost that static aspect, acquiring a more vibrant, more... present tone.

And then—

The energy collided.

Not externally.

Internally.

Freyja’s divine essence encountered the newly created demonic structure and, for a brief instant, it should have collapsed. It should have rejected it. It should have failed. But it didn’t.

Because there was no conflict.

There was... forced adaptation.

The demonic energy did not resist the divine.

It molded itself.

And the divine—

It did not reject the demonic.

It reorganized it.

The result was not fusion.

It was... reconfiguration.

The body arched slightly, its muscles reacting to the initial overload, the wings on its back expanding abruptly before retracting, as if learning to exist. A low sound escaped his throat, not quite a sigh, nor a groan—something in between, like the first sign of life traversing a newly activated system.

Lilith stopped.

Completely.

Her eyes were fixed on the scene, but now there was more than just analysis.

There was... concern.

"You haven’t stabilized the layers," she said, her voice firmer now, more urgent than before, even though he had already ignored her first attempt. "Integration needs time, or consciousness might—"

His body breathed.

For the first time.

The air entered unevenly, as if the act itself was still being learned. His chest expanded, then contracted, in a disjointed rhythm that gradually began to align. The fingers of one hand moved slowly, as if responding to commands that were still being rediscovered.

And then—

Her eyes opened.

Golden.

But not completely.

There was something more there.

Something darker.

Deeper.

More... present.

Her gaze wasn’t empty.

Nor was it confused.

It was... conscious.

And that made Lilith fall silent.

Because that—

That shouldn’t happen so fast.

The new Freyja’s head moved slightly, first to one side, then to the other, like someone testing physical limits she already knew, but which now responded differently. Her breathing stabilized completely in a few seconds, the rhythm becoming natural, fluid, as if it had never been interrupted.

She blinked.

Once.

And then—

She focused.

Directly on Vergil.

There was no disorientation.

There was no panic.

Only... recognition.

And something more. Something that wasn’t there before.

A silence formed again, but this time heavy with expectation. Sepphirothy didn’t even dare to move, Sapphire observed with a discreet smile, and Lilith... just watched, like someone who had just seen an entire theory dismantled before their very eyes.

Vergil remained seated.

As always.

Just watching.

Assessing.

Waiting.

And then—

She spoke.

"...Wow... I’m alive," Freyja said, looking at her hands. "Wow, that’s great!" She spoke like a child.

The air changed.

Not subtly, nor progressively, but as if something had been released without any kind of restraint. The energy that had previously been stable within the newly created body began to overflow, not as a flaw... but as an excess. Layers upon layers of power emerged from her in constant waves, filling the environment with an almost palpable density, pressing the surrounding space with an intensity that would cause any other structure to collapse.

Sepphirothy was the first to react.

One step back.

Instinctive.

Then another.

Her eyes remained fixed on Freyja, but her body had already understood before her mind that this... was not something common, nor controlled. Not yet.

Sapphire didn’t immediately recoil, but her smile diminished slightly, her eyes narrowing as she assessed that absurd release of energy. Still, after a few seconds, she too took a step back, more out of recognition of the excess than out of fear.

Lilith—

Lilith simply... moved away.

Without words.

Without analysis aloud.

Just movement.

Because it surpassed the comfortable point of observation.

The energy continued to grow.

And grow.

And growing.

There was no structural instability in the body, no signs of rejection—the problem was something else. It was volume. It was intensity. It was the complete absence of limitation in a system that had just awakened.

At the center of it all—

Vergil didn’t move.

Seated.

Calm.

As if that pressure simply... didn’t affect him.

His eyes remained on her, not with concern, nor with urgency. Just... observing. Assessing. Waiting for the next step.

And it came.

Freyja slowly lowered her hands, still looking at them for a moment, as if she were getting used to her own existence. The energy around her didn’t diminish, but it stopped expanding uncontrollably, stabilizing around her body like a living, pulsating aura.

And then—

She looked at him.

Directly.

And in that instant—

Something changed.

Her eyes shone.

Literally. The golden hue intensified for a brief moment... before transforming.

Two small hearts appeared in the depths of her pupils, almost childlike, almost absurd in the face of the sheer magnitude of what she now was.

"Master~"

The voice came out soft.

Loaded.

But not with formal respect.

It was... something else.

Something more instinctive.

Deeper.

More... dangerous.

And before anyone could react—

She moved.

Quickly.

Directly.

Without any hesitation.

Her body simply vanished from where it was and reappeared above him, the impact contained only by the precision of the movement itself. Her arms wrapped around Vergil’s neck immediately, her body pressing against his without any sense of space or limit.

"You did this for me..." she murmured, her voice too close, her tone laden with a strange mixture of admiration, euphoria, and something far more primal. Her face drew closer to his without pause, her lips brushing his skin, her breath warm and uneven, like someone experiencing sensations for the first time... and making no attempt to control it. 𝑓𝓇𝘦ℯ𝘸𝘦𝑏𝓃𝑜𝘷ℯ𝑙.𝑐𝑜𝓂

"You’re incredible..." she continued, almost in a whisper, as she moved even closer to him, as if wanting to close any remaining distance.

Vergil didn’t react immediately.

He didn’t push her away.

He didn’t reciprocate.

He just... stayed.

Watching.

As if it were just another behavior to be understood.

But she—

She didn’t stop.

Her body constantly adjusted against his, hands sliding over her shoulders, her chest, as if confirming that this was real, that he was there, that this... belonged to her now.

"I want..." she began, her voice faltering for a moment, not from doubt, but from overwhelming sensation.

And then—

A hand appeared.

Holding something.

Not with uncontrolled force.

But with absolute precision.

The horn.

Sapphire appeared beside them without warning, her fingers already firmly closed around the base of one of Freyja’s newly formed horns. And, without apparent effort, she simply pulled it up, completely halting the advance.

The movement was clean.

Efficient.

Definitive.

Freyja was lifted a few inches off the sofa, her body still leaning slightly toward Vergil, as if the very act of being pushed away wasn’t enough to stop the impulse.

Sapphire tilted her head, observing her sideways, her smile slowly returning.

"Look at that..." she murmured, in an amused, almost analytical tone.

Her eyes quickly scanned the body’s structure, the energy, the instinctive reaction.

And then—

She concluded.

"It seems that being the goddess of love and sex..." she began, slightly twisting her wrist while keeping Freyja suspended with ease, "...when you become a demon..."

A short pause.

The smile widened.

"...turns you into a succubus."

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.

Nor tense.

It was... revealing.

Freyja still moved slightly in the air, her eyes still fixed on Vergil, the gleam in her eyes not diminishing in the slightest, as if that interruption were merely an inconvenient detail.

And Vergil—

He remained exactly as he was.

"HAHAHAHA" He laughed suddenly, startling everyone~ "Well, we expected that not everything would turn out amazing, but it’s much better than we expected, right?"