The air smelled of sulfur and iron.
A heavy wind blew through the dead trees, carrying with it the distant murmur of ancient souls. Vergil walked ahead, his boots sinking into the sandy, blackened ground—the rhythmic sound of his footsteps echoed like the beating of a hellish heart.
Behind him walked the three of them—Valerie, Gwen, and Kaori—in silence, each in their own world of regret and tension. The shame was almost palpable in the air. They still felt the weight of the scolding he had given them hours earlier, just after he had freed them from the underground prison. None of them dared even breathe loudly.
Vergil, on the other hand, seemed calm.
Too calm.
As he walked, his gaze roamed the vastness of the territory before him—a newly claimed domain, still in the process of transformation. The hellish landscape stretched as far as the eye could see: a raw fusion of forest, rock, and fire. The scent of ancient magic and corruption hung in the air like a mist.
