"This has become a sanctuary…" Viviane murmured, observing the distorted form of Vergil's soul, as if the space around him was an extension of his very essence.
The transformation she had orchestrated was profound and unsettling.
Instead of a mere confrontation, she had triggered exponential growth, forcing Vergil to confront his wounds and failures—not once or twice, but thousands of times.
Each repetition, each failure, was a step toward something greater—but at the cost of his sanity.
Now, his reality manifested as a closed-off dimension, a macabre Buddhist sanctuary consecrated to the demon he had become. The three pairs of horns on the roof symbolized the wives he loved, a haunting reminder of his lost humanity.
The thick, murky water covering the floor, a mossy blue hue, seemed to absorb the light, making the atmosphere oppressive and mystical at the same time.
