Vergil sprinted across a plain of devastation — the land once filled with hollow trees now had nothing but scars to record what had happened.
The sky above rumbled blue lightning as Eleanor was slumped against his back, arms draping weakly around his shoulders.
Yet Vergil only gritted his teeth. Her weight was light, but the weight of the situation and what he had done was crushing.
Sliding down a steep incline of mud, his sword vanished into his inventory along with his shield.
He needed both hands free, and every ounce of speed he could muster. "Hang on," Vergil breathed.
"I am," Eleanor gasped, voice trembling. "But you're running like a madman."
"Stop complaining," Vergil snapped. "I don't have time for this."
She didn't answer, her grip tightening slightly around his neck as the wind howled in their direction.
Vergil's eyes scanned the terrain ahead, smoke curling from burnt, hollow trees — faint roars echoing like a storm of beasts climbing from hell itself.
