It wasn't fear—it was something more primal. An instinct, engraved in the core of any being with a soul. The immediate recognition that something before him was greater, older, and infinitely more dangerous.
The woman smiled. It was not a smile of joy nor of courtesy... it was a smile that knew the taste of destruction, the flavor of absolute control.
Vergil remained upright, but he felt the arcane pressure trying to push him to the ground, as if the world around the Queen was bowing to her presence.
It was like staring into the eye of a hurricane that was watching him back, not with anger, but with the curiosity of someone who decides, on a whim, whether something should live or be crushed.
"Holy shit... She has more than a thousand times my energy."
It was the only lucid thought Vergil could form before her voice pierced the air again.
