Dust still hung in the air, dancing slowly in the dim light of the Underworld sky. The hot wind from the Abyss blew through the rubble, scattering fragments of stone, bits of broken chains, and the metallic smell of recent destruction.
Vergil remained motionless. His hands returned to his pockets, and his cold, indifferent gaze fixed on the direction from which Ingrid's body had disappeared.
He completely ignored the fact that Amon had vanished without even saying goodbye.
None of this surprised him. It was typical of the demon—leaving chaos behind like one abandoning a boring conversation.
Vergil took a deep breath. The air smelled of iron and ash.
There, miles away, a silhouette stood amidst the twisted ruins.
Ingrid.
