Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
The sound rang hollow through the crumbling ruin, echoing around blood-slick stone and silent corpses.
Vergil didn't turn immediately. His blade still dripped crimson, his stance relaxed but alert. Eleanor remained close, unmoving, her gaze sharp.
From the shadows near the pulsing altar, the false form of "Kael" began to ripple.
With a sickening sound like wet silk tearing, flesh sloughed off in strips and melted into the floor. The illusion broke.
What emerged was a towering, humanoid shape—lean and almost graceful at a glance—wrapped in ribbons of gray flesh that writhed like worms feeding on heat. Its skin was like stretched wax, semi-transparent in places, revealing the twitch of exposed muscle and the rhythmic pulse of black, sluggish veins crawling beneath the surface.
Its face was a void-like mask—no eyes, no nose—just a hollow mouth stretched into a gaping, crooked grin filled with childlike teeth. Too many. Too human. Like a doll abandoned in the dark and left to rot.
Six arms unfolded from its sides with eerie fluidity, each one ending differently:
A skeletal hand twitching unnaturally.
A bladed claw glinting wet with anticipation.
A warped imitation of a human hand, twitching with mock kindness.
A dripping stump that pulsed with sick meat.
A bone-sickle, jagged and curved like it was made to harvest screams.
And lastly, a malformed hand that ended in fingers too long, too thin—probing the air like curious tendrils.
Morvax stood tall, casting a stretched shadow over the altar. The red jewel throbbed violently behind him, drinking the blood pooling beneath.
"Well now," he said in a tone that was equal parts admiration and menace. "You've outdone yourself, Vergil. How magnificent!"
Vergil finally turned his head. His eyes didn't show surprise. Only measured stillness.
"I expected you guys to team up," Morvax continued, voice buzzing beneath his flesh like a hive of insects. "But this? This wasn't strategy. This was... joy. Pure ectasy."
He tilted his grotesque head, observing the corpses.
"I thought I was the monster in this little show."
He stepped closer, the flickering torchlight sliding across his writhing form.
"But you?" His smile widened. "Your just like me."
Vergil didn't answer. He simply stared.
Morvax chuckled—wet and low.
"I never imagined you'd enjoy it this much. I had hoped… but I never expected to be surprised."
The demon glanced at the jewel, then back to Vergil.
"Well done, truly. I almost want to applaud again, So i'll give you an offer, work with me and sacrifice the girl behind you so we can open the gate."
Eleanor's grip on her rapier tightened, but she said nothing. Her calm remained unshaken.
However Vergil on the other hand, was unshaken, he studied Morvax and turned to look at Eleanor and after a few seconds he gave an answer, his face forming a deranged smile
"You see... I'm not particularly a fan of your proposal, who knows what will happen if I team up with you, you might gang up on me with your friends, so no. Ill be sacrificing you.
Morvax looked at him "so be it."
"So lets see, who sacrifices who to open the gate," Morvax whispered .
"Lets have one splendid battle, between me the demon and you the human coward.!" He screamed as he raised his arms for battle
Vergil took one slow step forward, blade lowering slightly.
"I aint the coward in this story." he said with a grin
Morvax's head tilted.
"Just wait for it." He said with a cold smile
"So let's dance."
Vergil's eyes narrowed. In a single breath, his mana surged—faint arcs of pale energy rippling across his skin as Mana Affinity activated. His aura sharpened like a honed blade, pulsing outward in a wave of cold clarity, as his primal Awareness was activated
Then he moved.
A blur—Vergil dashed forward with a burst of acceleration, his footfalls near silent, the air cracking behind him as his body cut through it like a spear. Mana coiled around his limbs, enhancing his muscles, amplifying every movement.
Morvax responded instantly.
His body twisted midair, flesh unraveling and reknitting with a sickening squelch—until he stood as a perfect copy of Vergil.
Not quite perfect.
The imitation's flesh was exactly the same,, his hair damp and clinging, his movements almost too fluid. But the stance… the eyes… his left hand transformed into a blade to match Vergils. He had taken it all.
Morvax grinned with Vergil's stolen face, then lunged.
Steel clashed with warped mimicry as the two collided, blades screaming against each other. Sparks danced through the air. Every swing was met with near-perfect counters—Vergil's own style thrown back at him.
'He's learning…' Vergil noted, grimly calm. 'Too fast.'
Morvax's mimic form moved like a broken reflection—each slash smoother, each dodge more refined than the last. His left arm melted into a long, curved blade of glistening bone, black veins pulsing through its length.
Schiiing!
He brought it down in an arc that split the stone floor behind Vergil.
The real Vergil didn't flinch. Instead, his off-hand ignited.
Ember Blaze.
Flames burst to life across his palm, curling up his forearm as red-orange light illuminated his face. The air around it shimmered with heat, and when he struck with it—BOOM—a wave of flame exploded across Morvax's mimic chest.
The demon was hurled backward, crashing through cracked pillars and sliding across the ruin floor, his copy flesh hissing from the burn.
But he rose—laughing.
His imitation skin bubbled and reformed instantly, adapting to even that.
"Beautiful," he hissed, sword-arm twitching. "Now show me more."
Vergil answered with another dash, this time faster—fiercer. He slashed high, then low, following with a spin-kick enhanced by mana. Morvax deflected the blade, took the kick full force, but bent with it unnaturally and countered.
They fought like mirrored nightmares.
Steel and bone.
Fire and shadow.
Precision and imitation.
Every motion painted the air with lethal artistry, but Morvax kept improving—inch by inch.
Eleanor stood behind, watching the clash with unreadable eyes. She did not interfere.
Not yet.
Because this was Vergil's dance.
And monsters deserved to settle scores in their own language.
Vergil's stance shifted.
Feet sliding apart, knees bent just enough to ground himself, his left side slightly forward—a duelist's stance, honed and fluid. The ember flame still danced on his off-hand, the flickering glow casting a halo of light across the broken altar.
His eyes narrowed again.
"Keen Gaze—activate."
The world sharpened. Every twitch in Morvax's form—each flex of copied muscle, each unnatural coil of that mimic flesh—became more vivid. It was like peeling back the blur of motion itself. He saw the delay in Morvax's right hip, the overcompensation in the sword-arm.
'Nice.. he hasnt fully mastered my fighting style .'
Vergil grinned coldly.
He moved.
No longer reactive—he attacked with intent.
But Morvax was ready, mouth stretching into a warped grin. "Try me, original."
Vergil surged forward, and this time—it wasn't a strike he threw.
He lunged—teeth first.
A savage, primal bite.
Morvax's eyes widened as Vergil snapped forward like a beast, aiming for the side of his neck. The demon twisted, barely ducking the strike, but the sheer unpredictability rattled his rhythm.
'He fights like a monster now… not a man.'
The bite didn't land, but it gave Vergil the space he needed.
His bow-sword mastery was helping his stance.
His posture flowed—no longer rigid swordplay. His footwork blended evasive archer movements with the grounded stance of a swordsman, letting him pivot effortlessly from close-range to mid-range pressure.
Morvax tried to counter.
His transformed sword-arm came down in a wicked arc—
CLANG!
Vergil raised his right forearm—and with a shimmer, his sheild was summoned from his inventory, just in time.
"Parry."
The impact cracked the air, the shield rebounded as the two powers collided. Sparks of red and black exploded from the contact point, and Vergil pushed back, sending Morvax sliding a step.
'My shield's stronger. My stance is better. And now I see through you.'
Morvax stumbled slightly—surprised by the technique—and hissed.
"That shouldn't have worked," he spat, voice warping with frustration. "You fight like a cornered beast. Wild. Undisciplined. And yet—!"
He lunged again, sword-arm flashing with corrupted energy.
But this time, Vergil was ready.
Eyes sharp.
Stance solid.
Flame flickering.
And the promise of death in his grin.
The dance was far from over.
But now, Vergil led.
But Morvax wasn't done, his twisted grin stretched wider as he feinted low—then snapped his mimic blade upward, slicing clean across Vergil's shoulder.
SHUNK.
Blood spattered across the broken altar, the deep gash tearing into muscle and nearly dislocating the joint. Vergil slid back from the impact, his left arm going momentarily numb.
Morvax's warped, Vergil-like form stalked forward, expression wild with triumph. "You're quick," he hissed, six arms twitching around him, "but you bleed all the same."
Vergil didn't respond right away. Instead he gave a twisted smile
His breathing was calm.
Focused.
Then, the wound began to glow.
Thin, green veins pulsed beneath his pale skin, spreading out like vines under his flesh. A soft, ghostly bloom of spectral leaves curled around the bleeding cut, sealing it inch by inch as the blood slowed, then stopped altogether.
Morvax faltered, eyes narrowing. "…What the hell, your healing ability is unnatural, are you even a human?"
The shoulder rotated with a light crack, fully healed. Vergil rolled it once, then regripped his sword with both hands.
"Call me whatever you want"
[Verdant Regeneration Core (C-) Activated]
The demon stared, something like irritation flickering behind his mimic grin. "That should've disabled your arm."
Vergil's eyes locked onto his. "And yet here I am."
He burst forward again, this time faster—fueled by the ambient mana around them, the ruins themselves responding faintly to the unnatural regenerative pulse. His blade clashed with Morvax's mimic sword, sparks flying as Ember Blaze lit the steel with a red afterglow.
"You regenerate," Morvax sneered, shifting his form mid-swing to a more monstrous version of Vergil. "So do I."
Vergil's voice was low, steady. "I'm trying to finish this."
Morvax slashed again, one of his six arms swinging a bone-sickle low toward Vergil's legs—he ducked, then pivoted on instinct, parrying the blow with his shield.
A counterstrike flared to life as Vergil swung in a wide arc, the Ember Blaze trailing like a comet's tail.
The fight continued, brutal and fast, with Morvax adapting more with every clash.
But so was Vergil.
And now, he was healing too fast to fall.
Morvax, still wearing Vergil's face—his smirk, his cold gaze—lunged forward with practiced precision, sword raised in a mirrored stance.
Two Vergils clashed in a blur of movement, steel against steel. Sparks sprayed across the ruined chamber as the imitation brought his blade down in a diagonal arc. The real Vergil twisted his body, shield angled to deflect.
CLANG!
The copied sword met iron, and the impact rang out like a bell. Vergil's boots slid slightly along the cracked stone floor, but his stance held.
"Still using my face?" he muttered, teeth clenched.
Morvax didn't answer—his grin was wide, maddened. He swung again, and again—each movement tighter, more refined.
He was learning.
Vergil narrowed his eyes.
'He's getting faster… . That mimicry of his is improving mid-fight'
Suddenly, Morvax dropped low, sweeping at Vergil's legs with a mimicry of the same spinning sweep Vergil had used earlier.
Vergil leapt over it—but as he came down—
SLASH!
The doppelgänger's blade carved across Vergil's side, drawing blood.
Pain flared.
But it didn't last long.
Green veins lit up faintly beneath his skin, pulsing softly as ghostly vines curled along the torn flesh before vanishing.
[Verdant Regeneration Core (C-)] activated.
The wound stitched itself in seconds, the flow of blood halting as if reversed.
Morvax noticed—and snarled.
But in that exact moment—
Vergil's foot slammed into the copy's chest with a brutal kick. Morvax staggered back, still holding Vergil's form.
And then he fell.
Both legs, still in Vergil's shape, detached at the knees with a clean, quiet slice.
Morvax's expression shifted. Confusion. Then rage.
He hit the stone with a heavy thud, blades scraping, his stolen face twisted in disbelief.
"What the hell?"
He looked down at his missing legs, now twitching yards away—blood oozing, flesh unraveling into demonic mass.
'I didn't see anything, did he do something?!'
Vergil slowly straightened, sword still glowing faintly red from the fading traces of Ember Blaze.
"can you see it," he said flatly.
"What…?"
Morvax looked at it and saw a thin blue thread running from the 2 pillars
"A trap. A thin line of frozen mana, I set it up during our exchange."
Vergil raised a hand, and for a second, the light caught on something nearly invisible—faint, shimmering blue lines stretching across the stone.
"You were so focused on mimicking me, you didn't notice your footing. Your blade work's solid—but your awareness is trash."
Morvax's stolen face grimaced as he dragged himself back with his remaining arms, still in Vergil's image—blood soaking into the stone beneath him.
His legs twitched violently, the mangled stumps bubbling and distorting as if something alive writhed beneath the surface. Thick, viscous fluid hissed out from the wounds, steaming slightly as it hit the cold ground. Then—pop… pop-pop-pop—clusters of swollen, translucent blisters began forming at the torn edges, swelling grotesquely before bursting open to reveal fresh sinew coiling like serpents.
Flesh rippled outward in pulsing waves, veins knitting together with unnatural speed. Bone cracked and stretched as jagged shards pushed out, aligning with sickening precision. The sound was wet—like meat being wrung out, like bone snapping into place behind stretched skin.
Within seconds, muscle layered itself back in thick cords, wrapping around the newly formed bones. Skin stretched over the growing limbs like molten wax poured over a sculpture. His feet reformed last—talons clicking into place with an audible snap, toes flexing as if testing the strength of rebirth.
The transformation wasn't clean. It wasn't perfect. But it was effective. And terrifying.
Morvax stood again, legs whole, if slightly uneven.
"You bastard…"
The real Vergil didn't blink.
"Keep using my face," he muttered, voice low. "I'll carve it off myself."
Vergil exhaled slowly, letting the embers flickering along his blade fade out. With a subtle motion, he lowered the sword and let it drop to the cracked stone floor beside him. The metal clanged against the ruin's silence like a declaration.
He straightened his posture, rolled his shoulders, and then cracked his knuckles—his sharp eyes never leaving Morvax.
A faint grin tugged at the corner of his lips.
"My fists are more than enough for a dumb fuck like you."
The words echoed through the chamber like a challenge soaked in confidence.
A faint shimmer passed over his body as his Taunt skill activated.
The ambient mana seemed to ripple. The atmosphere grew heavier, tension crackling in the air like a storm about to break.
Morvax's many hands twitched, his grotesque frame vibrating with anger.
"You mock me?" he snarled, his doll-like grin twitching violently. "Dont get cocky you bastard!"
Vergil tilted his head slightly, eyes glowing with cold amusement. "You're not worth a blade. Come find out why."
Morvax roared, the sound deep and inhuman, and lunged forward—bladed claws and hooked arms whirling in a blur of mutilated fury. And Vergil, weaponless and unshaken, slid into stance with deadly calm.
Vergil's pupils narrowed as [Keen Gaze] surged to life—his irises briefly glowing with a focused light, reading every twitch of muscle, every micro-shift in Morvax's grotesque frame. Time didn't slow, but clarity sharpened. Every movement Morvax made, every feint and shift, was laid bare to him like an open book.
He breathed in deep.
'Mana Affinity'
The mana around him rippled and bled into his veins—his muscles tightened, nerves sharpened, and bones hummed with energy. A faint mist clung to his skin as his physical stats surged to their peak.
Vergil's feet shifted into a wide, low stance—not elegant, but grounded and brutal. It was the fighting style he had once seen used by the ogre. The memory was vivid in his mind and he had honed it to make sure the motions it had used was etched into his muscles
His fists lowered near his waist, knees bent outward, spine slightly hunched forward like a beast ready to charge. It wasn't refined. It wasn't perfect. He wasn't even sure he was doing it right. He hadn't mastered the form—only glimpsed fragments of it in brutal motion during battle.
'I understand its purpose now'
Power.
Pressure.
Punishment.
Vergil rolled his shoulders as [Mana Affinity – Full Synchronization] surged through him, flooding every tendon and joint with unnatural strength. His skin shimmered faintly with mana, his presence heavier, more feral.
Across from him, Morvax still wore his face, his form—a twisted, uncanny reflection of him. He snarled and lunged, sword-arm slicing through the air in a wide arc while his hook-arm followed with a jagged swing toward Vergil's flank.
Vergil didn't retreat.
[Keen Gaze – Active]
Every thread of movement unraveled before him. He ducked beneath the blade at the perfect moment, his foot stomping down to anchor himself as he twisted into a brutal upward elbow that shattered into Morvax's ribs. The impact thudded like a war drum.
"Ghh—!" Morvax gagged, surprise flickering across his warped face.
Vergil followed up with a pivoted strike, his knuckles slamming into the mimic's jaw. A clawed hand came for his throat, but Vergil bent sideways, twisting his hips and slamming a knee into Morvax's gut.
The mimic stumbled, coughing—already learning, already adjusting.
But Vergil wasn't done.
He spun low, sweeping Morvax's legs from beneath him, then rose with a fluid turn into a rising uppercut that cracked the underside of the mimic's jaw.
It wasn't clean. It wasn't graceful. But it hurt—and it worked.
Dust and grit burst up as Morvax skidded across the ground, clutching his shattered face, limbs twitching from the violent flurry. He groaned, half-conscious, starting to rise on unsteady legs.
But Vergil didn't give him the chance.
A dark ripple flared beneath his feet—Shadow Dash—and he surged forward like a phantom, his body blurring with momentum. In a flash, he was in front of Morvax, one hand snapping forward with surgical precision.
Fingers gripped the mimic's face—not like a man, but like a beast claiming its prey.
Morvax barely let out a grunt before Vergil's fingers dug in.
Not just grabbing. Embedding.
Nails sharpened by mana punctured skin with wet cracks, gouging deep past the cheekbones, scraping against bone. Blood welled instantly, dark and too thick, as if the flesh fought back—but Vergil didn't stop. His muscles trembled not from effort, but from the precise, controlled violence he was unleashing.
Morvax screamed.
A raw, piercing screech. It echoed across the ruined clearing like a dying animal's cry.
But Vergil's expression didn't change. No rage. No joy. Just cold, focused silence as he clenched harder, his thumbs pressing into the eye sockets.
The mimic thrashed, claws flailing wildly—but Vergil was anchored, immovable, like a storm that refused to shift. He leaned in close, eyes glowing faintly with restrained fury.
"The mask doesnt suit you," he whispered. "Let me help you take it off."
With a savage pull, he ripped.
Flesh tore. Muscle peeled. Cartilage snapped.
The mimic's stolen face came off in chunks and ribbons, slick with blood and tendon, clinging to Vergil's clawed fingers like a grotesque trophy. A torn mess of raw muscle and malformed bone was left behind, twitching in spasms.
Morvax shrieked and shoved him back with a burst of wild strength, staggering away as his body began to twist—the illusion shattering, skin warping, bones cracking back into his true, monstrous form.
He hunched over, breathing ragged, as gnarled horns began sprouting and his spine lengthened with sickening pops.
Vergil stood there, arm dripping with blood, the remains of his mimicry clenched in his hand.
He tossed the shredded mask to the ground.
"I told you," he said with a low smirk, voice razor-sharp. "I'd rip my face off you."
Morvax looked at him, his face unrecognisable, only black flesh and his eyes were intact as he screeched "you bastard."
Vergil rolled his shoulders, stance tightening, his silhouette now wreathed in mana and shadow. Muscles ached. His lungs burned. He was far from perfect—but he was relentless.
"Im quite liking this style, its fun for shit like this." Vergil murmured to himself.
"I'm still figuring it out though." he admitted, calm and cold as ever, fists rising again.
"But it's enough to break you."
A/N
How's the first major fight scene of volume 1.