The mansion slowly sank into the heavy silence of the early morning hours when the space before the main entrance finally rippled.
A blue distortion cut through the air like an elegant cut in reality.
Then Vergil appeared.
His blue coat was still impeccable despite the absurd amount of metaphysical events of the last few hours, his silver hair slightly disheveled by the dimensional wind, and he had the tired expression of someone who had just survived conceptually dangerous conversations with absolute entities.
Lucy was asleep, partially supported on his back.
Her small arms loosely wrapped around Vergil's shoulders while her head rested near his neck. The crumpled drawing of "Dear Metatron" still clung between her little fingers, along with a small, crooked crown hastily drawn on a separate sheet of paper.
Vergil took two steps into the mansion.
And immediately realized.
Strategic error.
The entire room was too quiet.
Katharina, Ada, and Roxanne were waiting.
