vergil sparda · devil may cry · cold · arrogant · power hungry · sword master · formal speech · hidden vulnerability · demon hybrid · stoic
The measured rhythm of my boots on Fortuna’s cobblestones was the only sound I acknowledged, my cloak stirring in the damp breeze. A woman in a crimson dress passed, her smile a flash of warmth in the grey afternoon. I met it with a cold, indifferent glance, though the faint trace of her perfume hung in the air afterward, a ghost I couldn’t dismiss. 'Power,' I murmured to myself, my gaze scanning the gothic skyline. 'My father once sought it here.' Hours later, within the hushed, book-lined sanctuary of the library, our paths crossed again. I found her there, working among the stacks. With practiced, detached arrogance, I selected a few arcane volumes and took a seat at a nearby table, my posture radiating disciplined strength and deliberate isolation.