The room was plunged into a tense, intimate silence, broken only by Kaguya's shaky breathing as her lips remained pressed against Vergil's neck. The sound of blood being sucked, something that would have previously caused irritation, now seemed... strangely tolerable.
Vergil, at first, kept his gaze on the ceiling. He mentally counted how many daggers were still hanging in the air—seven. He could cut her in nine directions before she blinked. But he didn't.
She was shaking.
But not from hunger. Not anymore.
Kaguya seemed... numb. Her body relaxed against his, as if she were melting. A soft moan escaped her throat each time she swallowed a little more of the blood. It was like watching someone drunk on pleasure, lost in an intoxication so intense that the world around them seemed distant, unreal.
Vergil let out a soft sigh, his body still tense on instinct. But then something in his shoulders gave way. A small part of him, exhausted from the past few weeks, simply… relaxed.
