The air around Yamato's blade continued to fragment into tiny, invisible lines, as if the very fabric of reality were being squeezed by something far greater than it could withstand. Microscopic cracks appeared and disappeared around the sword, opening and closing at absurd speeds, each releasing small crackling sounds reminiscent of glass being pushed to its limit before shattering. The battlefield, devastated by countless collisions, remained suspended in that strange instant where destruction seemed to have given way to a momentary pause.
Vergil watched the blade in silence.
His gaze was no longer fixed on Dante or Angelo. At that moment, his eyes were turned towards Yamato as if he were trying to see something far beyond the weapon's surface. Demonic energy continued to flow through his body like an endless river, fueling every fiber of his existence, every beat of his heart, every fragment of his soul that was connected to that sword.
And yet, something was still missing.
