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... ling.

Trembling in fear.

Vergil’s boots crunched on the leaves. His shelild now in his right hand as he slowly drew his sword slowly, the scarping made a sound too loud in the dead silence.

Eleanor stood behind him, composed but on guard. He breathed slowed to near silence. Her eyes sharp whilst flickering.

But Vergil knew her well enough to sense the fear she wasn’t showing.

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

"Analysis," Vergil whispered.

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