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Hell was always red.
Vast stretches of magma wrapped around scorched earth, occasionally spitting up columns of molten rock while demons darted through the chaos.
A cross-shaped slash of blade light suddenly appeared, then spread wide.
Two figures stepped out, one after the other.
The moment Soren set foot in Hell, a sharp, burning sulfur stench slammed straight into his nose.
"Cough—cough—!"
He couldn't adapt to the extreme environment right away and started coughing hard.
On top of that, he could feel an invisible malice drifting all around him. It kept trying to seep into his body, only to be blocked by the demonic power constantly flowing through him.
For ordinary people, the first real danger upon entering Hell was this ever-present malice from the dead.
Vergil stood a short distance away, Yamato in one hand. He looked at Soren's current state and frowned slightly. "Weak."
Soren didn't argue. He just exhaled a few times until his lungs slowly adjusted to the burning air.
"First time here. Bound to feel a little out of place."
He lifted his head and met Vergil's gaze.
Just moments earlier, Soren had returned to the office with Patty and the others. Vergil had immediately challenged him to a fight.
Soren hadn't refused. He wanted to know exactly how far behind he still was compared to these monsters.
"Let me see what kind of power you have now."
Vergil held Yamato loosely, standing there with no intention of attacking first.
Soren didn't waste words. His eyes flooded with purple light.
Boom!
Tremendous demonic power exploded out of him. Dark bio-armor wrapped around his entire body as long silver-white hair grew out in the rushing wind.
Vergil's gaze swept over him and he gave a small nod.
"Better."
With a thought, the Shura Blade appeared in Soren's hand.
He bent his knees slightly, lowered his stance, and shifted into a drawing stance.
Vergil glanced at the weapon in his hands. "Oh? A toy from that woman?"
Soren ignored him.
All of his focus narrowed onto the blade in his grip. Demonic power poured into it like a flood. The red patterns along the Shura Blade's length seemed to come alive.
A bloodthirsty impulse flooded into Soren's body, making his blood start to boil. His eyes gradually took on a crimson tint.
He knew he couldn't win in a pure speed contest against Vergil. His only chance was to compress every ounce of his power into a single strike and see if he could force Vergil back even half a step.
He couldn't use Yamato's techniques in front of the real owner without having to explain where he learned them. That left only the Shura Blade's own skill.
Iaijutsu – Vacuum Wave.
Soren silently recited the name in his mind. It was currently the only technique he had that required charging.
Just as he compressed his power to the absolute limit and prepared to draw and slash—
Vergil's figure suddenly vanished from in front of him.
"What—?!"
Shock exploded in Soren's chest.
He tried to raise a guard, but a brutal impact slammed into his abdomen.
Bang!
His body flew backward like a cannonball and crashed hard into a pile of rocks.
A sweet taste flooded Soren's throat. Blood sprayed inside his mask.
"Too slow."
Vergil remained in his kicking stance, staring down at him with cold indifference.
"Real enemies aren't training dummies."
He flicked his left thumb.
Shing—
Yamato slid out an inch, its eerie blue edge reflecting off Vergil's icy face.
"Get up. Let me see the power of the Sparda bloodline inside you."
Half an hour later.
A cross-shaped slash of light appeared again in a dead-end alley in Los Santos.
Soren stumbled out, one hand pressed to his chest as he coughed up blood. His clothes had been reduced to rags.
Thanks to the Sparda bloodline's powerful regeneration, the wounds and bruises covering his body had already healed completely.
Vergil walked out behind him. He didn't even glance at Soren before his figure flickered and disappeared.
Soren leaned against the wall, breathing hard, replaying the fight in his mind.
At the very beginning, while still in his demonized form, he had barely managed to trade a couple of blows with Vergil. For a brief moment he had actually felt confident.
Maybe he really was a genius?
After that, it had been nothing but one-sided punishment.
He hadn't even gotten the chance to draw his blade for a counterattack. Vergil's teleportation was simply too fast—speed that surpassed space itself. Soren couldn't track it at all.
Vergil had probably never taken the fight seriously. He had been toying with him using only the hilt and basic hand-to-hand techniques.
This whole exchange had just been Soren serving as a human punching bag.
"The gap is way too big. I can't even see where it ends."
Soren spat out the blood in his mouth and gave a self-deprecating laugh.
Still, the beating hadn't been completely worthless.
He called up the system panel.
[Demon Bloodline Awakening: 25%]
Just from getting beaten for half an hour, his bloodline awakening had jumped a full three percent.
Too bad opportunities to use Vergil as a training partner were extremely rare. If he asked for too many more sessions, Vergil would probably decide it was a waste of his time and simply kill him.
Soren shook his head, left the alley, and bought a fresh set of casual clothes from a roadside store.
One day later.
Texas. The sun was brutal.
As the largest state in America, Texas had no shortage of scorching sunlight and endless stretches of barren land.
Besides a few major cities, the rest was nothing but remote farms and private properties that navigation systems couldn't even find.
And on one such deserted desert highway—
Soren stared at the pickup truck in front of him that was now belching black smoke and fell into deep thought.
"If I'm this cursed with vehicles, why the hell do I keep insisting on driving?"
He kicked the flattened tire and let out a sigh.
He had rented the truck back in Los Santos with the plan to drive all the way to Maine. Los Santos wasn't that far from Maine—you just had to cross the Texas border and you were basically there.
The main reason he had chosen to drive was stubbornness. He refused to believe that every vehicle he touched was doomed by bad luck or environment.
Yet the moment he crossed into Texas, the radiator had blown.
"Now I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere with no signal and no one around."
Soren glanced down at his phone, wondering if he should just demonize and fly to the next town.
At that moment, upbeat rock music drifted over from the other end of the highway.
A green Ford van appeared in the distance and drove straight toward him.
The van slowed to a stop right in front of him.
In the passenger seat, a blonde girl with a sweet smile leaned out the window.
"Hey, buddy. Truck break down?"
She looked over the smoking pickup, then turned her gaze to Soren's face—mixed features, strikingly handsome, especially the silver-white hair that caught the sunlight. A flicker of surprise and admiration passed through her eyes.
"Need a hand?"