"I wonder how I ended up here," muttered Vergil, his voice hoarse, almost without strength, as he felt the weight of the chains digging into every fiber of his body. They were no ordinary metal... they roared like living beasts, made of liquid shadow, sliding and squeezing with sadistic pleasure around his muscles, bones and soul.
He opened his eyes slowly.
There was no physical pain - not yet - but a feeling of ancestral heaviness suffocated him. His eyes, now adapted to the surreal dimness, revealed a sky tinged with blood red, as if the firmament itself had been wounded. And below him... flowers.
Thousands, millions of red spider lilies.
The dream field that always appeared to him in his most confusing and disturbing dreams - and which he had visited once, when he fell into Viviane's well, still in his transition to the devil.
But now... it wasn't a dream.
