Atop the Plagued City's tallest structure, Virgil pondered as the demonic crowd shared a feeling of unease.
With every demon hunter unconscious, he could have commanded them to feast on their mortal flesh. Alternatively, he could have drawn his blade and finished them himself. He had no qualms with finishing Michael and it would be no different with Lucius, Miyazaki, or Vera– but Noel?
The former demon hunter sank into his thoughts.
I can't. Noel's the only memory of what I had that I don't hate. But, if I didn't, would I still be too weak? If I let myself be bound by bonds again–
Virgil's fist clenched as the demonic crowd looked at one another, hoping one was courageous enough to speak to their newfound leader.
–I'll never be able to get stronger. Yes, what I had doesn't matter anymore. The only thing that matters is power. Cain only killed the man I used to be.
"My Lord," a demon amongst the crowd spoke with a quiver, derailing Virgil's train of thought. The self-asserted monarch's gaze needed only to fall upon that demon to grant him permission to speak.
"The corpse of the man you've slain is gone," he continued.
A pause magnified the tension's palpability amongst the demons. They collectively perceived Virgil as the kind of person that could reap their lives without so much as a muscle twitch– an ability they feared falling victim to by just delivering less-than-ideal news.
To them, Virgil embodied fear of the unknown, yet nobody's heads were lopped off; his only reaction was him muttering to himself.
"Stealing my move, huh, Michael?"
Unfazed, Virgil's eyes–still icy in its lack of warmth but now darker in color–scanned the city's outskirts for any trace of Michael until his gaze locked in on a trail of blood leading into the forest.
"I know where he's going. I'll follow him, but first… " he continued to monologued as his legions apprehensively waited for a command.
What Virgil saw next dictated the command he'd give.
"Stay put. Noel's waking up."
While unconscious, Noel's mind slipped into that which is not real– a far more pleasant reality to the one he awoke to. The perpetual night complimented by a blood-colored moon reminded Noel of the godforsaken world he really lived in. Face pressed up against decaying grass, Noel was greeted with the sight of all of his friends presumably dead.
Shock couldn't even begin to describe it.
"W.. hat the hell? What happened to you all? Hey, hey!" his voice cracked in desperation.
"Bandage-face? Coat-lady?– Lucius! Where's Michael? What the hell happened?– Please, somebody wake up! This shit isn't funny!"
Noel bit his lip in grief as he teared up, struggling to process what happened as much as he struggled to stand. On his knees, his gaze gravitated towards the Plagued City, where several pairs of sinful eyes shrouded in the night watched him.
"Where am I?" Noel whispered to himself.
"Hello, Noel."
The demon hunter reflexively brandished his gun and spun around to aim it at who spoke, but the man he saw caused him to freeze.
It was Virgil. The man who had slain his savior.
Noel–with bated breath and shaky hands–didn't lower his aim, despite his condition suggesting he'd miss if he shot anyway.
"Don't 'hello, Noel' me, motherfucker," he hissed.
"Or what? You'll shoot me?"
Virgil inched closer to Noel.
"Back up, Virgil– I'll do it," he threatened with a cracking voice.
An empty threat, for Virgil got close enough to press his forehead to the barrel of Noel's gun.
"So, do it. You know that means something."
His finger was on the throes of avenging Michael, but nothing came to fruition; only the anguished cries of a betrayed man.
"Why? Why did you do it, Virgil? Sure, me and you didn't see eye-to-eye at times, but I loved you like a brother, man," he choked behind tears.
"Because I hate Michael. He's why I am the way I am. I realize now that the bond we had as a group meant nothing– really, only the pursuit of strength does."
Every word that escaped Virgil's lips tore Noel's heart to shreds. This wasn't the brother-in-arms he knew.
"Which means I hate you too, Noel," he continued before applying more pressure on Noel's gun with his forehead. "So, do it."
Moments of silence elapsed between the two as Noel struggled to let go of their past and kill the thing that stood before him now; something Virgil knew would happen.
"Or don't shoot. There's meaning in that, too."
Noel wiped the angry tears that slicked down his cheeks.
"We would've helped you, man," he let out in a pained whisper.
"And I would've continued to be weak, Noel!" Virgil snapped. "I wouldn't be enough to protect you or anyone else. But, things are different now. People change."
There was no solace. One of Noel's only friends had been wholly consumed by the trauma inflicted upon him. There were no other words Noel could've mustered.
Virgil turned his back to his former friend and began making his way back to the city.
"We'll meet again, but know this, Noel–"
Virgil's eyes had become a hairs' breadth close to black.
"I abandon here the flesh of my body."
With that punctuating statement, Virgil had become the demiurge of Noel's suffering– the hammer that shattered him and left him to aimlessly scrape the pieces together.