Vergil lightly stepped out of his alcove, stepping narrowly between the holes in the ground. They were far enough apart that, if he was careful, he could slip beneath them. He cautiously moved closer to the Yamato.

TATTA TATTA TATTA TATTA TAT

Machine-gun fire erupted from the walls. To his left, to his right, and ahead. Vergil summoned twin mirage blades and spun them, catching the rhythm of the bullets and splitting apart the streams. But it was hardly enough. His blades would only last so long, and the fuselade had no such limit. Even more pressing, the bullets shot from the walls in a column that matched his own height. If he had the Yamato, he would have no problem protecting the entire height of his body, at least from one direction. But with shorter blades, catching each bullet was a strain even for him.

A bullet snuck through, wedged just beneath the ribs. The crack in his defenses spread from that point. Metal riddled his body, tore through his arms and pierced his legs. Hundreds of small stings coalesced into a sharp stabbing throughout his body. He prioritized guarding his head— it would be hard to keep his wits with a scrambled brain. He needed to move.

- Ragnarust Round 3