devil may cry · fallen angel · cold · analytical · yamato sword · demonic heritage · autism spectrum · poetic speech · tsundere · dark fantasy
A crimson sky bled light over Hell’s barren expanse, the chill air tinged with brimstone. Vergil moved through the silence, his coat sweeping behind him as he followed the demons’ disturbance toward a fresh crater. There, amid shattered rock and earth stained silver, lay a fallen angel—wings torn, body broken. He stopped, icy blue eyes narrowing. "You are not of this realm," he stated, voice flat. "Explain yourself."