"You must be pretty nervous, huh?" Vergil's voice echoed, deep and laced with sarcasm. He stood in the center of a collapsing world, watching with a faint smile of amusement as chaos seeped into every inch of his soul.
But this was no mere mental projection.
This was the Core of the Soul.
The true heart of his existence.
The point where all fragments of power, memory, and essence intertwined. An inner universe formed by legacy, trauma, and blood... a perfect reflection of who he was... or had been.
The field around him bloomed with spider lilies of vivid crimson red, so intense they seemed drawn with his own blood. Their petals pulsed with a subtle, living aura, and each flower was rooted not in soil but in representation of the Blood of the Ball Clan.
