Chapter 439: Chaotic Inner World

The room was silent, except for the high-pitched sound of Pandora’s tools analyzing Vergil’s body. Crystals floated around him, scanning his magical and spiritual constitution with lights that oscillated between shades of blue and gold. Vergil kept his eyes closed, sitting in the lotus position on a magical analysis circle, silently absorbing every word of the conversation taking place miles away between his wives. The false shadow, now broken, left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Vergil,” Pandora called in a serious tone. “This… this is all wrong.”

His eyes opened slowly, a reddish-purple glow crossing his irises before disappearing.

“Wrong how?” he asked, his voice as steady as distant thunder.

Pandora approached with her hands on her hips and an expression somewhere between shock and exasperation.

“How are you still… whole? You have too much inside you. Demnaca magic, death mage, spiritual aura, celestial mana, and now… this.”

She pointed with her chin to the center of Vergil’s chest, where a golden light pulsed faintly, like a miniature sun trying to contain itself within a steel shell.

“Take it out. Now. That divine thing from your body. It shouldn’t be there. Not even for a second.”

Vergil stared at Pandora in silence for a moment. His gaze was heavy, not with anger, but with centuries of difficult decisions piled behind every gesture. Finally, he let out a restrained sigh and brought his hand to his chest. A slow, ceremonial gesture. Then he pulled.

The light shattered into a thousand reflections. And from the crack in his flesh, he calmly withdrew the Reforged Excalibur—a sword that seemed to have been forged not in a forge, but in judgment.

Pandora took a step back. Her eyes widened. “But… but how are you alive?”

Vergil rested the sword at his side as if it were part of his body, not a weapon. He stared at Pandora with the serenity of someone who had seen death many times.

“My soul is strong, my body too. And this is a weapon of the soul,” he said simply.

Pandora hesitated. She felt her own breath falter for a moment. There was something about Vergil that had always been dense—but this… this was beyond comprehension.

“Okay… then let’s get this over with,” she muttered, trying to maintain her composure.

She snapped her fingers, and a golden seal formed in her left eye as she activated the same magic she had used to see Alice’s soul.

“I just want to… check how your soul is dealing with the side effects. It’ll hurt a little, but—”

She froze.

The world around her shattered into pieces. The floor of reality crumbled beneath her feet. And then, like lightning plunging into a forbidden ocean, Pandora fell.

Not into a dream.

Into a consciousness.

Into Vergil’s inner world.

A sky as red as freshly spilled blood covered the horizon. Black clouds swirled slowly over a vast, endless field of red spider lilies. Flowers of death. Flowers that bloomed in absence. Flowers that told stories of separation and suffering.

The air was thick, each breath hurting like breathing embers. But the silence… was absolute.

Pandora staggered in the middle of that field. The wind blew lightly, but each breath carried fragments of memories, voices that cried, laughed, screamed, and died.

“What is this…?” she whispered.

And then she saw.

The two of them.

Two majestic silhouettes tore through the sky. Dragons. No, more than that. Empresses. Creatures of ancestral and incomprehensible power, their bodies immense as mountains, wings that covered the firmament, and eyes that shone with pure and savage intelligence.

One of them was enveloped in black flames, its form defined by bone crests and scales that shimmered like liquid obsidian. The other, shrouded in a golden mist, radiated a light that burned but did not hurt. Together, they flew in circles over the field of lilies, protecting it. Dominating it.

Pandora fell to her knees, gasping. It wasn’t just their power—it was what they represented. They were part of Vergil. They were fragments of his soul. Guardians. Judges. Guilty.

The voice echoed like the crash of thunder.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Vergil spoke, appearing beside her, “Especially when there’s something you shouldn’t see, little Pandora.”

Pandora couldn’t speak. Tears streamed from her eyes. Not from sadness. But from fear. Pure, instinctive fear, like that of a mortal being facing the birth of the world. The aura of those two fighting dragons made her feel afraid.

“Vergil… is that… is that what’s inside you?” The man tilted his head and smiled—not arrogantly, but wearily.

“You wanted to see it. Now you have.”

“That’s not a soul,” she whispered. “That’s a battlefield between deities.”

“I know, but it wasn’t really my choice, if you want to know.” He laughed and stroked her head. “Nivara may attack you. Let’s go back.” He spoke and pulled the girl away.

Vergil’s touch was light, but it carried a command that transcended language. As soon as his fingers touched Pandora’s head, the world began to crumble like ashes carried by the wind. The crimson sky split apart, the black clouds disappeared like smoke, and the field of spider lilies was engulfed by a warm white light—not divine, but something much older, more primitive.

Pandora felt the pressure leave her lungs, as if she were emerging from a deep, forbidden dive.

She gasped loudly as she woke up, her body involuntarily shrinking. She was lying on the cold floor of the laboratory, her heart pounding in her chest as if it wanted to escape. The crystals around her flickered chaotically, unable to decode what they had witnessed. Part of the magic circle was erased, as if the magic itself refused to work in the face of it.

Vergil was there.

Calm.

Serene.

Watching her with that ancient gaze, which seemed to weigh millennia. The Reforged Excalibur still rested beside his knee, motionless, but pulsing like a sleeping heart.

“Breathe,” he said simply, his voice low and unhurried. “You came back quickly.”

Pandora swallowed hard, her eyes still wide. The image of those two Draconic Empresses was etched in her mind like a tattoo made with fire. She sat up slowly, her fingers trembling as she sought some sense of normalcy.

“That… that place…” she whispered. “Do you… do you carry that around with you all the time?”

Vergil didn’t answer right away. He just stared at the floor in front of him, as if pondering the answer, or perhaps wondering if she really needed to know.

“You could say that.”

Pandora closed her eyes, trying to push away the suffocating feeling of that inner world.

“That’s not deadly, Vergil. Not even a demon could keep that alive.”

“I’m neither,” he replied. “I’m what’s left when both died.”

Pandora took a deep breath, trying to regain her focus. She needed to talk, she needed to understand, she needed to record… but then his gaze fell on her differently. More serious. More direct.

“No one can know,” he said.

“What?”

“What you saw. That world, those entities. Everything. It dies with you.”

Pandora’s eyes widened.

“But… this is knowledge! It’s pure power! It’s living history, Vergil. You have two ancient entities that seem to be part of your soul—or worse, trapped in it! This could be the key to understanding…”

“Pandora,” he cut her off firmly.

She fell silent immediately. “You’ve seen enough to understand the danger.”