Chapter 474: Reborn

Six months.

Six months in which the world around him transformed into a macabre laboratory.

Vergil didn’t see the seasons pass—for him, only the cycle existed: hunt, kill, feed. Well, there were no seasons in that damned forest, but you get the idea.

The forest floor, already horrific, was now a mosaic of ash and dried blood. As each new beast dared approach, he advanced with surgical precision, tearing out specific pieces, selecting with almost loving care. It was always the best cut, the meat most saturated with demonic essence, offered as tribute.

The cow… it could no longer be called that.

At first, there was still something bovine in its form—the horns, the hooves, the rounded gaze. But as the weeks passed, its limbs lengthened, the muscles multiplied in overlapping fibers, and the plates of bone emerged from the skin like natural armor. The horns grew like black spirals, pulsing red energy in their fissures.

Vergil, however, didn’t flinch in the face of this growing monstrosity. On the contrary: he smiled.

He smiled in a way that reminded him of Rize in the beginning… but sharper, more knowing.

Back then, when he’d created Rize, he’d acted on impulse, out of a wild curiosity to see how far something could go. Now, he knew exactly what he was building. And this certainty made his sanity erode like stone being gnawed at by the sea.

In the second month, the smaller beasts stopped appearing.

In the third, they began to come in groups.

In the fourth, Vergil was already facing creatures that, alone, could destroy entire villages. None got through. None left intact. Each one became a new step in the creature’s evolution.

And the cow… ate.

Ate to the bones.

Ate to the essence.

Ate and grew.

Its weight now sank the ground, creating shallow craters. The simple act of breathing released puffs of black vapor that killed the surrounding vegetation. Her gaze was no longer that of an instinctive beast—it was focused, calculated.

She watched Vergil like an apprentice watches a master… or like a predator assesses whether it has surpassed its creator.

At the turn of the fifth month, Vergil began to speak to her.

Not in orders, but in promises.

“You’re not like them… You’re the only one.” His voice was low, intimate, as if sharing a secret. “I won’t stop. Not even when the world asks me to stop.”

Rize watched from afar, sometimes, and said nothing. She just smiled, that smile of hers that mixed pride and fear.

Zuri, on the other hand, no longer smiled. She watched with narrowed eyes, as if calculating not the creature’s strength… but the exact moment Vergil would lose control.

Then came the sixth month.

The forest was no more.

There was only a barren field, dotted with the bones of demonic creatures, some so large their skulls resembled hills. In the center of this living cemetery, Vergil and the cow trained—if you could call it training. He struck her, pushed her to her limits, and when she bled, he fed her again.

It was violence and care at the same time, like a sculptor breaking his own work and then reassembling it.

That day, Vergil returned from a hunt with something different.

It wasn’t just flesh—it was a heart. A demonic core, stolen from an ancient mountain beast. The object pulsed with a hypnotic rhythm, each beat emitting a deep rumble that echoed in the air.

“Today,” he said, stopping before the creature. “Today you will wake.”

The cow tilted her head. Her eyes—red, fused with golden streaks—were unblinking. She understood.

Vergil climbed onto its back, walking up to its head, and placed the core on its tongue.

The sound that followed wasn’t chewing. It was absorption.

The core dissolved into light and smoke, entering straight into its veins. The creature’s entire body trembled, muscles tensing like steel ropes. A wave of energy exploded from it, throwing Vergil meters away.

He fell to his knees, but laughed. Laughed as if he’d just heard the best joke in the world.

“Come on, show me…” he murmured.

The ground cracked beneath the cow’s hooves.

The air grew heavy, oppressive, as if a storm were about to break.

The bony plates opened like petals, revealing inner layers of living, incandescent flesh. The horns grew once more, curving like metal claws. Wings—yes, wings—erupted from his back, too large for his body, but moving with tremendous force.

And then came the sound.

Not a bellow, not a roar… but something between a word and a scream, a vibration that entered the mind of the listener. It was pure consciousness, awakening for the first time.

Vergil, still on the ground, lifted his face.

He knew: what stared at him was no longer an animal. It wasn’t even a monster.

It was a new being.

And the first thing this being did was step forward, tilting its head, and face Vergil… not as a master, not as a creator. But as an equal.

“This…” Vergil said, his voice thick with pride and insanity, “…this is what I wanted.”

The creature took a deep breath, and the energy it exhaled made the horizon tremble.

The awakening was complete.

The light around it bent as if the entire world held its breath.

The demonic cow’s body—now far beyond any definition of “cow”—began to vibrate, bones realigning, muscles contracting and expanding like raging tides. The skin tore in beams of black and crimson light, revealing new muscle tissue, denser, more alive, pulsing like the heart of a fallen god.

Vergil didn’t look away for an instant.

He had seen something like this before… when Rize took form. But now there was no doubt: he wasn’t just witnessing it—he was shaping it.

The energy condensing around her was so intense that the ground sank beneath her feet, leaving deep craters. The air burned in the lungs of anyone who dared approach. Her horns grew and curved upward, taking on a golden glow at the edges. Her hair, now an almost liquid silvery white, fluttered as if submerged in an invisible current.

The final moment of reconstruction had arrived.

A wave of power swept across the clearing, and the light that had enveloped her body dissipated, revealing the form that would remain etched in everyone’s memory: tall, imposing, with a bearing that blended brutality with predatory grace. Her muscles were perfectly defined, yet unshakable, every line of her body carrying the promise of overwhelming strength.

Vergil smiled.

He approached unhurriedly, as if observing the perfect result of a sculpture after months of work. Resting Yamato on his shoulder, he raised his hand and, with an almost casual movement, conjured clothing that molded itself around her—stiff fabric, tailored to not restrict her movement, but designed to remind anyone who looked that this was no ordinary warrior.

Her eyes, now a blazing violet, locked onto him. There was no hesitation. She advanced.

Without warning, the ground exploded beneath the impact of her hooves, and her body launched forward with the same technique he used to close the distance in combat. The improvised blade she wielded—a piece of demonic horn—sliced diagonally through the air, mirroring Yamato’s initial cut with pinpoint precision.

Vergil parried the blow. The collision sent a shockwave that shattered trees and pushed rocks away. He laughed.

“You are strong, girl…” he said, pressing his blade against hers and feeling the brute force push him back. “And bold.”

She responded only with a deep roar, spinning her body and unleashing a flurry of rapid blows—each movement, each step, a shadow of Vergil’s own style, only heavier, more animalistic.

He dodged, analyzing, and each dodge only widened his smile.

Because now he knew: she wasn’t just another creation.

She was a reflection of him… but free.