The cross-shaped opening created by Yamato appeared in the center of Sparda without warning, splitting space into four sections before allowing Vergil to step through.
The contrast between the two worlds was immediate.
Behind him, for a few brief seconds, it was still possible to see the completely black sky and ash desert of the Inverted World of Exile.
Ahead of him, there were colors again.
Buildings.
People.
Energy.
And that almost strange feeling of being somewhere alive.
Vergil stepped out of the fissure carrying Frey over one shoulder as though he were transporting a particularly inconvenient sack of potatoes, closing the dimensional cut with a casual movement of Yamato's sheath.
Frey's condition, however, removed any possibility of the image actually being funny.
The god remained unconscious, so thin that his bones seemed drawn beneath his skin, his long filthy hair hanging down Vergil's back while the remnants of his clothes swayed without resistance.
