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Fighting hordes of demonic fodder is hardly a challenge for a demon of Vergil's calibre. Though, yes a large array of demons could become annoying in the long run, managing to become a hazard to contain thanks to the sheer number of volume for him to tear through.
He is not fond with dealing with this kind of attacks for that same reason, scum insistently competing against one another to try and maul Vergil, despite the abysmal gap regarding their power levels.
If not for the exhaustion from the constant fighting of these previous months, the depleted energy spent cutting the remainders of the Qlipoth, and the heinous terrain he is standing in, Vergil would have already slaughtered them all.
Alas, that is not to be for now.
The demons that have been closing in on him, an array of Nobodies and a few Lusachias, are made to retreat by a well placed Judgement cut that splits the group in half, but they recover fast, stepping to cover the gaps left behind by the bleeding corpses of their companions and moving towards him again.
Vergil lets out a low curse while he tries to put some more distance between them again.
He barely manages to dodge a swipe from one of the demons that has managed to get behind his back, turning with a snarl to cut off their head. His boots squelch against the floor, something foul oozing and sizzling.
He takes another step to move further to the side and move away from the disgusting boil on the fleshy ground, while the demons around carelessly advance, their howls and shrieks resonating in the inside of Vergil's head.
This area of Hell couldn't be more bothersome.
Him and his brother had been trying to move away from the Qlipoth's sprouting ground in an attempt to find a suitable place to open a portal, but of all places, they had regretfully ended in this area of Hell, one that Vergil knows fairly little of, and wishes even less to be standing in.
The reasons for that aren't few, but for one, he despises how utterly disgusting this one truly is.
With the demons still trying to overwhelm him, Vergil manages to snatch a smaller Nobody from the ground, already wounded from another one of Yamato's cut, throwing him against the horde to make them stumble and gain a few seconds. He uses them to stray further from the swarm, his eyes flickering searching for his twin.
They had gotten separated during the initial onslaught, and Vergil still hasn't managed to rid himself of these pests. Not even the sound of his brother's revving new motorcycle can be heard, which is a sign that he is quite far.
(Or perhaps he is not—)
Vergil bites his tongue, tasting copper.
That's a ludicrous thought. His brother would not simply be easily overpowered by a bunch of mindless demons. He must be goofing off too far, playing with his devil arms without a care.
The facsimile of a floor beneath Vergil's feet pops again, and Vergil grimaces once more, both in disgust and at the slight prick of pain when some of the acidic sludge of the boil manages to land on his pant legs, eating at it. Thankfully, he manages to keep his footing regardless, sending barrage of blades against the wall of demons that is moving far too close for comfort again.
Vergil truly, completely loathes this circle of Hell.
Despite how the others he has visited are as welcoming as expected of this realm, they are at least somewhat bearable. But this one? No matter how much Vergil tries, he can't help but be disgusted by it's very nature.
The ground is more akin to an imitation of human flesh, soft and mushy under his boots, uncomfortable in it's instability and whole appearance. Boils and pustules sprout unevenly in the ground, covering most of it, segregating acidic liquid or sickly blood that coats the floor, prone to explode at the lightest brush, a hazard extending the whole area.
The terrain extends in uneven ridges and ravines, breaking the fleshy ground unevenly and presenting the putrid, pulsating mess beneath, were they have seen a few vermin feasting in the wounds like some kind of parasite.
The worst is the smell, however. Vergil is half-convinced that he has lost quite a bit of sensitivity, and despite that, his eyes still burn at the rotten stench that permeates the whole place, like a decaying corpse coated in heaps of garbage left to bake under the sun for too long, just a thousand times worse.
(Part of him is glad that the only other time he had stepped foot in here he had been too lost in his own decay that he had barely noticed most of anything, too busy dragging himself through each Circle of Hell as a damned soul in penitence, with his only objective being to keep moving and not let himself stop)
Another demon closes in, forcing Vergil to twist out of the way lest he step again on more of the boils that surround him, making him take an awkward angle to pierce through the demons flesh. It proves to be for nought, because another demon pounds on him right after, trying to chew his head off, forcing him to dodge, causing his feet to catch onto one of the previously mentioned boils.
Vergil gracelessly tumbles down kicking at the still raging demon while he feels the boils explode behind his back with a loud pop.
The liquid covers his back, making him release a pained yelp when it makes contact with some of his exposed skin and bites through his clothes.
In for a penny, in for a pound, Vergil rolls to the side, exploding more pustules while he attempts to move away from another attack, this time a swipe that nearly costs him his arm.
Stumbling onto his feet, he graces the demon with his elbow, hearing a satisfying crack when it makes contact with it's skull.
Pivoting on his feet he cuts up the gaggle of demons that has gotten closer. Only then he notices that they have managed to circle him, trapping him behind a wall of endless teeth and claws.
Vergil curses, picking up a carcass of one of the beasts that he has already gotten rid off, and throws it at them, managing to knock a few of them down and distracting some others with the fresh meat. The rest however are still focused on him.
Vergil sweeps the group for any escape, but there is none, only more demons at every side. He clenches his teeth, positioning Yamato to strike again, planning to make an opening, energy blades flickering to existence briefly to help with his task.
Tilting to the side, he cuts through demon flesh, Yamato poised for a devastating Slash that rips apart the cluster of demons, their bloody pieces landing on the ground and mixing with the other viscous fluids covering the floor in a revolting painting.
Vergil cuts through the horde, Yamato singing in tandem, crying for blood in a furious song.
The strain in his muscles is familiar, as much as the movements of his attacks, the sound of spilled blood falling down his demonic blade.
It was thrilling, despite his annoyance at the situation.
However, not all good things last long in Hell, because as soon as he manages to make his way, stepping out of the group of demons, he is distracted by the sudden screech of another, just as angry mob of demons.
From the way he can now hear the sound of crunching ice and burning fire, it's obvious that his brother wasn't that far from his position after all.
Vergil doesn't have time to process this new and utterly annoying development, because as soon as he turns to face the added enemies, one of the demons bites on his shoulder hard enough to make Vergil lose any momentum he had previously built, a scream tearing out of his throat.
The demon doesn't relent the pressure, and Vergil hears his bone crack.
The older twin gasps, his hand opening without his permission and releasing his sword. It falls to the ground and is lost beneath the other approaching demons, and Vergil snarls, trying to shake off the pest that is still trying to shred his arm.
A partial trigger of his other hand does the trick, allowing him to rip apart from him the other demon, tearing it to shreds for it's audacity.
It comes with a price, regretfully, because Vergil's vision sways, his magic flickering. He doesn't have enough energy to spare and attack with reckless abandon, as much as he wishes to do that just now to go after his sword.
But the demons were still coming. Even when their number keeps dwindling, they kept appearing.
The assault continued, Vergil barely managing to move in the direction he can still hear his twin is fighting.
He is without his sword, Yamato lost between the chaos, which only manages to make his heart rate spike and his breath to falter more. Invoking costs him nearly losing a limb for his distraction and Vergil cannot help but curse, moving away to gain some space again.
His magic continues to drain, and it sputters more frequently. Despite how the urge to simply summon Miradge Edge is strong, Vergil knows the strain would render him helpless. Beowulf perhaps would help, but with the never-ending stream of attacks, close combat is barely—
A new demon tries get a hit, so Vergil kicks it in the face after it lunges at him, forcing it back, tumbling against the others to fend them off too. Another, one of the Lusachias sends a spell that forces him to duck and use another energy blade to kill it, making him heave at the strain.
Time becomes a blur of blood and adrenaline, focus solely in moving away, Vergil's attention narrowing down.
Every time he sends one demon back, steps away, another appears, two, three.
On and on.
If he hadn't been so expended he could have transformed without worry about what happened afterwards and end this one and for all. If he had been a bit more well rested and Yamato (still lost, not here, where—) he could have fought through them, tear them apart, exhaustion be dammed.
If his brother had been slightly nearer, he could have worried less about the crowd circling him, going after his blind-spots.
But the situation is what it is, and regretfully, his focus on the fight costs him losing track of the terrain, and with that, of where he was stepping.
His foot goes down firmly, unconsciously using more force than necessary to try and keep himself steady, when something explodes beneath him and his vision whites at the sudden burn the pain renders.
It is only but a moment, but is enough for one of the demons hounding him to lunge.
Vergil collides against the floor, air knocked out of his lungs and for one instant grateful that this same floor is soft beneath him, when he has to use his arms to keep his face from being bitten off.
He is pinned beneath a Nobody, the rest of the mess still moving around howling for his blood.
His thoughts spin, a shrill pitch inside his head that barely let's him think. The demon snaps at him, still trying to bite into his flesh.
Vergil won't be defeated by this pitiful thing. He won't.
Gritting his teeth, he manages to extend one of his hands while trying to keep the demon at bay with other, reaching with his hand.
He feels for a thread of power to snag, so familiar and powerful, focusing, focusing—
His arm buckles and the demon howls in victory and—
There is a sudden shift in weight, a spark of power on his palm going up his arm.
Warmth reaches his fingertips and Vergil doesn't even think. He simply stabs at the demon in it's head, blood splattering against him.
It makes him sputter, but he manages to throw the corpse away, far from him, wobbling while he stands back up. The weight of his weapon shifts when he corrects his hold.
And corrects again.
He knows before he even gazes at the sword. The weight heavier, the pommel different, the energy a burning inferno of molten lava that kept expanding, instead of a scorching, contained blaze.
Vergil blinks, his gaze snapping to the sword on his hand with only a second to spare before he has to slice a demon again.
The sword in his hand isn't Yamato. Instead, in his hand, lay Rebellion. Or— No. Not Rebellion anymore. Something else.
Devil Sword Dante.
Rebellion newly reforged. Her new form, stronger and more powerful, created with Urizen's defeat in mind.
Something lodges inside of Vergil's throat, uncomfortable and heavy. He doesn't have time to think on what that is before he has to swivel again to try and rid himself of more scum trying to go after him.
Vergil takes on how utterly easy it is to disperse the crowd. Yamato is by no means incapable of the same, but a broadsword focused more on simple raw strength than his katana's precision is more suitable for the job.
No wonder Dante enjoys swinging her around with such reckless abandon.
The next demon's head and half of it's torso goes flying, being sliced apart as easily as if it was warm butter. The rest follow it's same path soon after, falling utterly useless in the face of the weapon in his hand.
The sword in his hand sung, a deep, guttural sound, a song nearly as familiar as Yamato's, similar to how it had been before, only much stronger. Much more powerful.
Vergil turned and swung again, the blade in his hands cheering him on. Because that was what the song he could hear, resonating in this head, was. A delighted, happy cheer, Rebellion's voice growing louder and louder. Much different from what he was used to, Yamato's steady and quiet chant piercing and precise, heard despite the noise, of the chaos of battle, while Rebellion seemed to be thriving on it.
The song travelled through Vergil, from his gut to his sternum, building and building like a savage scream, but encroaching every little gap with a tender, caring warmth that made his heart jump all over his chest, encouraging.
Vergil teared through the demons, heart pounding, accompanying Rebellion's delighted notes that kept growing in intensity, until they deafened the sound of the demons, the death and blood, the chaos of the battle a mere whisper.
There was only him and the sword. Nothing more, nothing less.
He kept moving, his feet steady, his attacks wide. There was no need to be precise right now, only to hit as much fodder as he could, until nothing around could get up again. It was so different from Yamato, but despite that, Vergil moved with the same grace as with her, the feeling of familiarity settling in the marrow of his bones.
The attacks continue. After what feels like an eternity of spilled blood and falling corpses, Vergil finally begins to see less and less of his attackers.
But he doesn't stop. Not yet.
For every demon he felled, every litre of blood spilled, another roaring laugh from Rebellion.
She had always been odd. Always quiet, silent. But not without presence.
Like a steady heartbeat, Rebellion lets her energy resonate with his, her playful demeanour in battle accompanying her steady presence.
Expanding and contracting, again and again…Breathing, living. Subtle and yet so, so noticeable now that Vergil focused on her.
Letting her energy reach his, an endless flow of care, of protection, promising to help him fight.
It made his eyes water slightly.
A haze, wobbly memories bathed in red of shattered metal and simultaneous piercing howls threatens to make him falter, but a steady pulse loudly protests, making Vergil focus again.
Devil Sword Dante (always Rebellion) purrs content, her previous ruthless energy returning, egging him on to keep fighting.
Vergil releases a breath at the stubbornness of the demonic sword, his heart twisting, perhaps with fondness.
Rebellion had always been bold. Unwavering. Much like her wielder, of course.
The demons have began to tapper out. Vergil still doesn't stop, unwilling to let them go scot-free after tearing Yamato from his hands. There is a rumble in his mind. Rebellion had not been amused by that either.
Vergil feels his lips twist slightly in amusement, before he manages to control his features.
So passionate. It made sense. Their father's will flowed through her.
And…
He glanced down again, staring at the sword in his hands.
Also his power now of course.
His attacks are far from precise at this point but it doesn't matter at all, Rebellion whooping delighted anyway, childish excitement making it hard for Vergil to keep himself from laughing out-loud too.
One and the same those two. Battling as if it was a game.
Rebellion had changed. Evolved.
Gone was the double skull engraved in the guard. Gone was the metallic, silver shine. The boost in power, fusing with the Sparda, had made her stronger, but as a result, her look had changed in return.
Sharpened teeth as the pommel. Treacherous spikes covering the guard. A blade that held magma inside, power stored to explode at any moment.
(He had been the one to break her, smashed her to pieces—)
Rebellion lets out an outraged cry in warning and Vergil dodges, avoiding a sneak attack from behind. Pivoting on his heels he pierces the demon's hide with Rebellion, pinning it to the wretched, too alive floor.
Rebellion quietened down, her voice dwindling, shooting another sharp pulse up his arm. Vergil breathed in and out, looking at his surroundings.
He had ended up moving even further apart during the bloodbath against the horde, which meant that he wasn't sure where his brother had ended up. He would need to check. But the array of demons that had been trying to kill him was at least gone now, buried beneath each others remains.
Vergil exhaled through his nose tiredly and began to move, ready to search for both Yamato and Dante, when a soft rumble distracted him.
He stared back at Rebellion, still clutched in his hands.
A strong ripple of energy, quiet in the aftermath of the battle, but still easy to hear in the deafening silence left after the fight, making it easy to discern. Rebellion sung quietly to him.
Fondness. Forgiveness.
Vergil breathed out, keeping himself planted on the spot, unable to move.
Another ripple, softer this time.
Vergil leaned his head against the blade in his hands, cradling her carefully. Rebellion. Devil Sword Dante. Both, neither.
It didn't matter.
Still the same. Changed, and reforged, but still her. Just as stubborn as her wielder.
Just as forgiving.
"…I am sorry for breaking you." he said quietly, voice cracking slightly.
The sword let out another wave of warmth, wrapping her energy protectively against him, despite everything. Despite her having to come lend him her willing help.
Vergil let out a sigh "You are both utterly hopeless…" he murmured, exasperated.
The sword let out an offended note, but the warmth stayed.
Vergil pressed his lips, trying to hide his amusement. It didn't work, but Rebellion still let out another offended note again.
She could be so childish.
Vergil let the blade to fall back to his hand, holding it normally again. Despite the theatricals at annoyance, resonating inside his soul Vergil could still notice the fond edge her quiet song had.
He placed Rebellion on his shoulder, letting her rest there while he started to walk towards where he could now finally hear Yamato's worried calls, and Dante's outlandish laugh, still battling with some remaining demons.
"Let us go then. We need to check on our siblings, after all."
A dimming response, as easy to hear as the others, and Rebellion rested once again.