“I am making my incision,” said Kratos. He plunged his mighty blade into Vergil’s chest and carved a deep gash into his flesh. “I am testing the patient’s reflexes.” He swung his mighty hammer into Vergil’s kneecap and reduced it to dust. “I am measuring the patient’s blood pressure.” He wrapped his mighty blood pressure monitor around Vergil’s arm and pumped it until the squeeze brought him great discomfort.

“Enough!” said Vergil. He summoned up all the malice burning in his gut, his demonic essence. The air tensed and grew thick— and he let loose his Devil Trigger. A burst of energy flung the spectral nurses away and forced Kratos to stagger back. When Vergil finally found his footing, he kicked the operating table away.

“Heed my diagnosis, Son of Sparda,” said Dr. Kratos. “Your skin is soft. Your bones are frail. Your blood is hypertensive. I estimate that you have mere minutes left to live, if that.”

“I don’t trust the diagnoses of amateur physicians.” Vergil took a moment to let everything that was broken heal. His kneecap was fine, his blood pumped as normal… but the gash in his chest remained. When he looked down, fire still raged in the wound, and even his demonic form did not allow it to reform.

- Ragnarust Round 1