The atmosphere inside the cave seemed to vibrate.
Spiderling's paws scraped the stone in an irregular rhythm, as if she were a machine adjusting for the perfect attack. Her eight eyes were fixed on Vergil, but he seemed... distracted. The spear rested on his shoulder, his body relaxed.
"Ready for class, spiderling?" His voice had a lightness that only added to the weight of the insult.
She didn't answer—she simply disappeared.
The sound came first: a sharp snap, then the roar of air displacement as she reappeared inches from him, the bony blade descending in a deadly arc.
Vergil twisted sideways, the spear describing a lazy semicircle that effortlessly deflected the blow. "Fast. Faster than before... but still too slow."
Her roar echoed.
A flurry of blows followed—paws, venom, jaws that closed like iron traps. Vergil backed away millimeters, sometimes not even that. Each dodge seemed calculated so she almost touched him, but never quite got there.
