The silence that followed was almost physical.
Dense. Cutting.
Vergil's words hung in the air like obsidian blades—sharp, cold, and impossible to ignore.
None of those present dared to breathe for a moment. Even the souls trapped in the walls of Erebus—the same ones that had previously murmured Hades' name—now seemed silent, watching.
The tension crackled.
Hermes was the first to react.
"Arrogant to the end, huh?" he said, wiping the blood from his lip, his gaze flashing with provocation. "You speak as if you weren't on divine ground, mortal. Do you really think your flames can protect you from the wrath of the heavens?"
Vergil slowly turned his face towards him, his crimson eyes flashing with a calm that was worse than any fury.
"Do you want to test it? As far as I know, the flame of Olympus is no longer the possession of your pantheon, do you really want to talk about flames that can protect?"
