Some white haired devil rushed down at him, two daggers in hand. Its daggers. In another lifetime, it lived as those weapons.

It extended a hand out. A new weapon appeared through magic within its palm. A broadsword, crimson black, forged out of an ancient meteorite, blessed by the god of war himself. Some vague memory of this blade bubbled in its helmet, like a description of a picture someone only saw once.

This sword blocked Vergil's assault. The set of blades clashed, neither able to overpower the other.

"Hmph," said Vergil.

- LetterSequence Round 5