A sword pierced Vergil from behind. But he ignored it. He picked up the pieces of the Yamato, and of the Rebellion. Pieces of a broken home.

“Listen well,” said Vergil. He laid the shards alongside Yamato's hilt. “You do not understand the true strength of Sparda. The blood that flows within us is not so easily burned by simple flame. Demons cannot hope to match our power.”

He poured his soul into the shattered blade. Blue mirages filled in the gaps between the shards.

“And even if you did. Even if you somehow, through some infernal miracle, gathered such strength to match us—”

Vergil activated his Devil Trigger. An explosion of demonic energy sent Sephiroth flying back and dislodged his blade. Vergil’s form was sturdier now. It was bigger than his previous devil form. Large wings sprouted from his back, and vents of flame blasted out from his elbows.

And in his hands, he held a new blade. One forged from both Yamato and Rebellion. It was an imperfect sword. The width of each blade did not align, and a mirage edge was needed to even out its shape, lest it be sawtoothed on both edges. The color of the steel was imperfect. With each shard, it alternated between Rebellion’s stark steel and the Yamato’s argent silver hue. And yet, there was a beauty to its duality. Like kintsugi, there was an elegance to the repairing of something broken.

He held his blade up and pointed it at Sephiroth. It was a little longer than Yamato, slightly heftier too. And yet, Vergil felt an intimate familiarity with it. Like it had been his sword for his entire life.

Devil Sword Vergil.

- Ragnarust Round 4