The air tore apart.
There was no other word to describe what happened when Vergil's aura fully manifested.
Fire, wind, blood, and shadows—all the elements that formed his essence began to swirl around him, like satellites of a star about to collapse.
The flames that erupted from his feet were not red, but black and blue, flickering with an intensity that burned even the light. The wind roared, not like a natural current, but like a scream coming from a nameless place. The smell of iron and burnt flesh spread through the air—Vergil's spiritual blood boiling, overflowing from within him like an ancient river.
And the shadows... the shadows moved.
They had form, will, and eyes.
With each step he took, the ground trembled. The obsidian columns of Erebus bent under the spiritual pressure, groaning as if begging not to collapse. The ceiling pulsed, and the air became so dense that it was difficult to breathe.
Ada instinctively recoiled.
