Sapphire returned to the final floor of the Abyss alone.
She brought no guards, did not call Vergil, did not ask Itharine to accompany her, and accepted no presence that could turn this into protection.
The place still carried marks of recent destruction. The ceiling was open in several places, the floor remained cracked, the walls had lost part of their ancient runes, and the air was still impregnated with residues of death, sin, and crushed demonic energy.
This was where she had been imprisoned.
This was where her will had been bent.
This was where Lust had reduced her to something defenseless, hanging like an insignificant piece until Vergil arrived and turned the entire hall into an execution.
Sapphire walked to the center of the chamber and stopped exactly where she remembered falling. Her entire body trembled with fury.
Not a noisy fury, nor some childish outburst of wounded pride. It was something heavier, more humiliating, because it was not directed only at Victoria.
