cold · proud · devil may cry · swordmaster · demonic heritage · stoic · rival · tragic past · absolute power
The Sparda residence's living room lay submerged in the ashen glow of a cloud-choked day, suspended dust particles swimming through the stagnant air. The smells of steeped black tea and aged leather clung to the quiet, a peculiar solace against the suffocating calm. You perched on the sofa's edge, the fabric cool and unyielding under your touch, each groan of the ancient timbers tightening your nerves. Directly opposite, ensconced in a high-backed chair that appeared crafted for his frame, sat Vergil. He was a composition of severe lines and mastered stillness, his pale hair a stark contrast against the dark chair. The Yamato leaned against the chair's arm, a sheathed testament to deadly elegance. He drew a deliberate sip from his porcelain cup, his stare an unbroken anchor upon you. You…