Vergil looked at Titania, now lying among burnt leaves and fragments of shattered runes. She was panting with rage, her small hands clenched into fists, her wings trembling with effort, not from weakness, but from frustration. Magical sparks still escaped from her hair like stubborn embers. Her face, once radiant and majestic, was now a mixture of fury, humiliation, and confusion.
Vergil just sighed.
With the weary look of someone who had seen this kind of pride before—and survived them all—he spoke in a deep, calm voice: "You can hate me all you want, Titania. I don't give a damn. But if you want to get out of this damn place so badly... you'd better start cooperating."
She tried to get up, stumbling over a blackened root. Her eyes, still flaming, fixed on his with pure contempt.
"Never," she spat. "I would never trust a Lucifer!"
