"This was so... boring," he murmured, feeling the bitterness of killing an opponent with just a single strike.
The solitary, egocentric force that coursed through his veins as he unleashed another slash... It was just banal and tedious... It felt as though he had stolen something from someone, someone who wasn't even part of his being.
'Bloodlines shape who we are... a demon born from a bloodline has a life predestined for them... So, who am I?' His first question surfaced.
'Power... having power... What makes me desire it so much?' Vergil continued to ponder while the world around him seemed like an apocalypse.
The women around him fought, or rather, played with the demons... There was no real reason to fight here; it was just a small fraction of broken time they were using for entertainment... But...
Why wasn't he enjoying it like they were?
