Endless Darkness Vergilâs consciousness struggled in the depths of a dreamless abyss. He found himself once again beneath Mundusâs throne, the weight of his armor binding him, the pressure crushing his chest like a boulder. He had once again transformed into Nelo Angelo. He tried to fight, but he felt as though invisible chains held him fast, suppressing his thoughts, stripping him of every ability to act.
Before him, Mundus sat high upon his throne, his immense figure seeming to swallow the entire hall. His cold laugh echoed, low and malicious, reverberating in every corner.
âAh, Nelo Angelo, my most loyal warrior,â Mundusâs voice rang out, dripping with disdain. He rose slowly from his seat, his steps deliberate and merciless. Vergilâs body remained paralyzed, and though he fought with every ounce of his being, he could not break free from the nightmare's hold.
âToday, I have something interesting to share with you.â Mundus raised his hand, and dark red light flickered in the void. Then, a frail figure was suddenly dragged forward, crashing heavily onto the cold stone floor.
Vergilâs heart tightened as he forced himself to lift his gaze, desperately trying to see who this person was. But his eyes were locked in place, unable to move. Mundus sneered, leaning down to lift the fragile child.
The child, no older than five or six, had disheveled white hair, his face bruised and bloodied. His skin was unnaturally pale, as though he were a doll deliberately abandoned, stripped of warmth and vitality. What horrified Vergil the most were the blood-red eyes, devoid of any spark of life, as if they were a still pool of water.
âNero,â Mundus said with a chilling sweetness in his voice, âmy new toy.â He lifted the boy before Vergilâs eyes, a disturbing smile curling at the corners of his lips. âWhat a fragile little thing, isnât he? But he will be a masterpiece in the future.â
The words struck Vergil like lightning, tearing through the pain buried deep within him. He wanted to struggle, to scream, but he could do nothing. Helpless, he watched as Mundus discarded Nero like a trophy, the child rising slowly from the ground, his expression devoid of emotion as though disconnected from the world.
Mundus grinned with satisfaction and continued, âDo you know? When my subordinates found him, he was just an orphan, unaware of his origins. When they brought him to me, I discovered this little one has Spardaâs blood running through him. The most ironic part? Heâs your son, Nelo. Quite the surprise, donât you think?â
Mundus continued his performance, his gaze turning toward Vergil. âHeâs still too young, his powers not yet fully awakened, but donât worry, Nelo. I will slowly reshape him, until his body and mind belong entirely to me. When he grows, Iâll make him into a weapon stronger than you.â He turned his gaze back to Nero, his smile turning even crueler. âBy the way,â he added, his tone darkening as his gaze became piercing, âIâve spent some time altering him. Until the process is complete, he wonât even know who his real father is. Heâs your flesh and blood, yet he will become my tool. Isnât that ironic, Nelo?â
Vergilâs insides churned with indescribable agony, as if countless sharp blades were tearing apart his soul. Even in the dream, he could not resist. He could only watch as Mundus toyed with him.
Mundusâs words were filled with malice, and his eyes turned cold as they locked onto Vergil. âNelo Angelo, youâve served me for so many years. Today, Iâll show you mercy. Let your son call me âfather,â shall we?â
As the words left his mouth, Mundus reached out, gripping Neroâs chin and forcing the boy to look up. Neroâs crimson eyes were hollow, devoid of any life, as though his spirit had been drained. His lips parted, and mechanically, he uttered a hollow, âFather.â
That single word, âfather,â held no emotion, as though it were a response from an empty shell. Yet for Vergil, it was like a sharp needle driven straight through his chest.
Vergilâs eyes snapped open. His breath came in quick, shallow gasps, trying to calm the pounding of his heart. The world before him remained blurry, the remnants of the nightmare clinging to his thoughts, the weight pressing against his chest. Slowly, the dreamscape faded, and he wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, trying to steady himself. But his heart continued to race, refusing to settle.
A voice called out, filled with concern. Nero stood in the doorway, his brows furrowed, noticing something was amiss. For a moment, Vergil froze, as though he had just broken free from the dream. His vision was slightly dazed, but it soon cleared.
âWhatâs wrong?â Nero asked, stepping closer, his gaze focused with an intensity that seemed to pierce Vergil. âLooks like you had a pretty bad dream, huh?â
Vergil didnât want Nero to see his vulnerability. He tried his best to keep his tone calm. âItâs nothing, Nero. Just... a regular nightmare. Iâll be fine. Iâll recover soon.â
But Nero wasnât so easily fooled. âStop pretending, old man,â Nero said, shaking his head. His tone was a mix of impatience and concern. He took a few steps closer, his expression softening but still intense. âYou donât look like youâre fine at all. It wasnât just a nightmare, was it?â He hesitated for a moment, then added, âWhat did you dream about? Can you... tell me?â
Vergil looked into his eyes, knowing that Nero could see through the walls he had put up. The boyâs sharp intuition always seemed to leave him with no place to hide. âNeroâŠâ Vergilâs voice faltered, âI dreamed of youâŠâ He paused, swallowing hard. âAbout you becoming in his hands ...... â
Neroâs expression shifted slightly, as if realizing something. He lowered his head, his voice growing quieter. âHimïŒYou mean Mundus, donât you?â
Vergil remained silent, merely nodding in acknowledgment.
Nero sighed, stepping closer, and gently embraced Vergil. âI donât care what happened in the past, Dad. Donât let this shit get to you, okay? Iâm here. You donât have to carry this alone.â
Vergil was silent for a long moment. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. âThank you, Nero.â
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