Credo, now transformed into this angelic form, raised his longsword once more. He hovered in the air, glaring down at Nero from on high.
Did I push too hard? Nero wondered, a bitter pang hitting her as she second-guessed her approach to reasoning with him. Not that her approach was the real issue. From the moment Nero stepped into this mess with demonic power coursing through her, she was already on the back foot. Credo held all the cards, steering the conversation from start to finish.
So, if Nero wanted to flip the script and get through to him, she had to come in hot. Problem was, hot words led to hot tempers—and Credo wasn't one to back down from a fight.
She tilted her head up, locking eyes with the "angel" floating above. "Credo," she said, voice steady, "there's no such thing as angels in this world."
Credo didn't respond. Instead, he dove, wings flaring, his sword gleaming with a holy light that could've fooled anyone.
But no matter how pure it looked—that power was demonic to its core.
Nero caught the sword's tip with both hands, the force shoving her back a step. She gritted her teeth, spun Credo around, and flung him back into the air. Panting slightly, she pressed on. "Our god? He doesn't have angels."
Credo's wings beat, halting his momentum midair. Her words hit him like a sucker punch, and for a moment, he froze.
She was right. The Order of the Sword worshipped Sparda, the demon who betrayed the Underworld and saved humanity single-handedly. No allies. No subordinates. And definitely no angels in the Order's doctrine.
Credo had no comeback for that.
But he couldn't accept it either.
Denying Nero's words meant denying the Order's teachings. Accepting them meant denying everything he'd been.
His voice shook, raw with emotion. "You… you dare defile my faith, demon?!"
"Time to wake up, Credo!" Nero's voice, laced with sorrow, carried on the sea breeze. "Anyone in this world claiming to be an angel? They're just a demon in disguise."
Credo's sword dipped, his hovering form trembling.
"Even so—" His Devil May Cry's iconic devil-hunting attitude wouldn't let him give up that easily. His hand clenched and unclenched around the hilt, teeth grinding as he snarled at himself. "Even so!"
"Credo!"
He ignored Nero's plea, shouting to drown out his doubts. "If it means saving this world, I don't care if it's demonic! Demon or not, I'm still a knight of the Order!"
He raised his weapon high, golden magic coalescing into a dozen glowing swords that encircled Nero.
Nero wasn't about to go down without a fight. She stowed Gilgamesh and drew Yamato from her chest. A surge of demonic energy erupted, shredding the sword array. Her golden hair flashed silver, and a crimson glow flared in her eyes.
"Finally showing your true colors—" Credo started, but the words died in his throat. Nero's transformed appearance threw him off—specifically, that shimmering silver hair.
In Fortuna's legends, silver hair was the mark of a god.
And it wasn't just legend. Sparda, the demon who once ruled as the city's lord, had silver hair. Even the "divine child" living beyond the island, as Credo knew, matched the myth with the same silver locks.
Did that mean Nero's silver hair marked her as—
A flicker of doubt crossed his mind, but Credo shoved it aside, steeling his resolve. Divine child or not, so what? To fulfill the Order's dream of a perfect world, he'd already steeled himself to defy even a god. Nero's words weren't news to him. He knew his demonic power didn't make him an angel. He knew the Pope's so-called "savior" was a monster fueled by demon energy. But it was all for a world where no one would fear demons anymore.
For that cause, he'd sacrificed so much. If he stopped now, how could he face his dead parents?
Yet, despite his resolve, seeing Nero below—staring up at him with those sad, piercing eyes—shook him to his core.
If Nero was the divine child, she wasn't possessed by a demon. And if that was true, did he really need to fight her to the death?
They'd been family for a decade. As long as Nero didn't stand in the way of the Order's goals—
"Gloria wasn't kidding," a slimy, ice-cold voice interrupted from behind Credo. "You really are a softie."
Credo's blood boiled. That voice belonged to the one person he loathed above all: Agnus, the Order's researcher, mastermind behind the Ascension Ceremony, demonic tech, and the "savior" project.
"You lied, Agnus," Credo snapped, not even turning around. "Nero's not possessed by a demon."
He glanced down at Nero, but her expression had shifted—complex, uncertain, nothing like the fiery defiance she'd shown moments ago.
She looked like the Nero from the past year, weighed down by worries about the Sword Festival.
Agnus's voice slithered on, prodding at Credo. "Oh? Then how do you explain the demonic power radiating off her?"
Then, Agnus uttered the one name Credo dreaded most. "What do you think… Kyrie?"
"Is that… Credo? And Nero?"
Credo's hand shook violently on his sword. He whipped around, spotting his blood kin standing beside Agnus. Rage surged through him. "AGNUS!!!" he roared.
He'd never wanted this. Never wanted Nero or Kyrie dragged into this mess, never wanted the Order's filthy secrets to taint the purity of their faith, never wanted them to know their big brother was a bloodstained monster.
Never wanted them to know he was part of the experiments that killed their parents.
His eyes burned with fury, itching to cut Agnus down right there.
"Credo, you—" Kyrie's voice wavered, her eyes wide at his transformed state. She clutched her hands to her chest, hesitating. "This form… what is it?"
"No need to be scared," Agnus said with a saccharine smile, leaning toward Kyrie. "It's an angel. Your brother was chosen by God to become one."
Credo's radiant demonic form seemed to back up the lie. Kyrie murmured, "An angel?" but didn't press further.
Agnus went on. "It was supposed to be a secret. Credo's like this because he's fighting a demon."
"A demon?"
"Exactly." Agnus's grin turned wicked, hidden from Kyrie's view as he pointed. "And there it is."
At the end of his finger stood Nero, silver hair gleaming, her left hand pressed to her heart.
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