Vergil's smile widened, not with mockery, but with genuine enthusiasm. With a sharp thrust, he pushed the demonic cow away, sending it skidding across the ground until it slammed into a fallen log, which shattered as if made of glass.
It snorted loudly, its breathing heavy and ragged, but its eyes burned even brighter—now, beyond the fury, there was pride. It was as if it accepted that he was a worthy adversary.
Rize swung the blade again, but didn't budge from her stance. She could feel the air vibrate between them, and even her killer instinct told her that interfering would be… reckless.
The cow lowered its body, its hind legs tensing.
Vergil, in response, unsheathed the Yamato's scabbard from its obi and held it in his left hand, the sword still sheathed in his right. His posture changed: no longer calm analysis, but the promise of attack.
The world seemed to slow down as she fired.
