Vergil woke up to nothing but utter silence. His eyes fluttered open to a world of liquid light and dancing shadows. At first, he thought it was a dream.
Then they regained their clarity and the coldness of polished sediment against his back told him otherwise.
He blinked once, a flicker of his senses returning. Everything happened too fast. 'Mother, why?' The words gnawed his mind, festering and becoming a scab.
He tried to move.
Nothing.
There was no pain from torn muscles or broken bones. Only a hollow absence remained — draining his body of the strength to move.
'Move dammit.' He tried and tried. Yet the best he could do was blink. His eyes fixated on the darkness above before realising how familiar the landscape was.
The ceiling was unnaturally jagged. Faint streaks of light filtered through the darkness, casting shadows on the symbols on the walls.
It was a place most familiar. The spike.
