CHAPTER 422: YOU’VE COME A LONG WAY

The salty breeze cut through the air, even atop the makeshift altar floating on the calm surface of the Atlantic. A spiral containment circle glowed faintly beneath the feet of the three—runes danced in a pattern of angular intersections, pulsing in a silvery blue hue, as if summoning an ancient force.

At the center, an obsidian pedestal forged by Paimon with infernal magic and bathed in alchemical liquid silver by Viviane served as a focus for the fragments that had remained sealed for ages.

Viviane and Paimon faced each other.

The tension between them was subtle but present.

Paimon, as always, wore a dress that was too tight and elegant for the occasion—black, with gold details, and a generous neckline that made clear the game of provocation she maintained as her own style.

With a languid smile and a theatrical gesture, Paimon brought one hand to her own bust.

"Don’t frown," she said with an air of boredom. "Believe me, these compartments are much more useful than your dimensional bags, wizards."

Viviane narrowed her eyes, watching the gesture closely... and with a hint of perplexity.

When Paimon pulled three gleaming fragments of Excalibur from her cleavage—crystalline, perfect, each radiating an almost uncomfortable aura—Viviane couldn’t help herself. She looked down at her own chest, then raised an eyebrow.

"You can hide things like that so easily...?" she muttered, more to herself than to the others.

Vergil, who was standing right behind her, rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

"Viviane, please focus on the ritual."

She clicked her tongue. "Just a legitimate question, come on..."

But soon the tone changed. She walked to the center of the circle and gestured for Paimon to place the fragments on the pedestal. As soon as the three pieces touched the enchanted surface, a golden glow rose in small swirls—pure ancestral sacred energy, crackling with memories and ideals that no longer fit in the modern world.

Viviane took a deep breath and looked at Vergil. "I need the blades. All three of them."

Vergil nodded. With a gesture, he drew the two swords of Iridia and Zex that were strapped to his waist—weapons of the two Catholic maids, each still pulsing with resonant runic fragments. He handed them carefully to Viviane, and then, with a more deliberate movement, summoned Yamato.

The sword appeared with a slight cutting sound, as if the air itself gave way to it. Its dark-toned blade with bluish edges flickered with a contained energy—ancient, sharp, pure.

Viviane placed all the swords around the central pedestal, aligning them with reverent care. Then she bent down, carefully examining the energy fittings. Yamato seemed "alive," silently harmonizing with the fragments of Excalibur, while the other two swords—remnants of the elemental and spiritual duality of Iridia and Zex—seemed to resist, but also... yield.

"It’s possible," she said at last, still kneeling, her eyes analyzing invisible seals. "The fusion... or absorption, however this union occurs... is feasible. Especially because of Yamato. It has already assimilated part of Excalibur before. But..."

She rose slowly, her eyes meeting Vergil’s. There was hesitation there. A shadow of genuine concern.

"But?" he asked.

"I don’t know what this will do to you."

Vergil kept his face neutral. "Do you think I might die?"

Viviane crossed her arms, thoughtful.

"No. Knowing your body—and yes, I know it well—your structure is no longer that of an ordinary demon. You are too resilient. Too fluid in essence. But... this energy is sacred, Vergil. Sacred in a primordial way. Purifying. Disruptive."

She paused, tense.

"And you are a demon. Even though you are one of the most refined, controlled... you still have it running through your veins. This fusion may not kill you, but it may... hurt you. Change you. Corrupt or purify something inside you. And I have no idea what that will bring."

Vergil didn’t respond immediately. His gaze turned to the pedestal, watching the fragments that floated subtly above the obsidian, slowly spinning like planets around an invisible sun.

Viviane’s words echoed in his mind—but there was something she and Paimon didn’t know. Something he had never told anyone since his confrontation with Spectre, when he fought within his own mind and killed that distorted reflection.

The truth was that something had changed in him during that fight.

He had felt it. It wasn’t just a victory over a shadow — it was a transition. The energy released in that clash, added to the fragment of Excalibur he had absorbed, had rewritten part of his essence.

He was no longer just a demon.

He was a Nephilim now.

The fusion of human and demon in balance... but now, with a divine spark whispering in his soul. Subtle, invisible even to the eyes of sorcerers and archons. The mark left by Excalibur did not reject him... it welcomed him.

The sacred energy that worried Viviane so much... would not be a problem.

But he said nothing.

Not yet.

He needed them to believe in the risk. In the urgency. In the seriousness. He needed all safety measures to be taken to the extreme. Because if something really got out of control—even with his new nature—the impact would still be catastrophic.

Vergil looked at them again. "Whatever this causes... we will do it in a controlled manner. Use all the seals, barriers, anchors you have."

Viviane nodded. "I’m already working on it. But we will need your full cooperation. The ritual will require more than strength. It will require dedication. You won’t just carry Excalibur. It will become an extension of your spirit."

"I know," he replied, his voice deep but calm.

Paimon, who had been silent until then, let out an amused sigh. "Look at you two... you almost look like priests debating doctrine. How adorable."

Viviane shot her a sharp look. "If you’re not going to help, at least don’t get in the way."

"I already helped. I brought the fragments," Paimon retorted with a sharp smile. "If he dies in the process... well, at least we’ll have the spectacle of a new constellation appearing when the sky breaks."

"Too poetic for someone who dresses like a relic from hell." Viviane turned back to the altar.

Viviane took a deep breath, gathering all the concentration that centuries of practice required. She was about to begin something that, even for her, bordered on the impossible. With a precise gesture, she traced a symbol in the air with her fingers—a triple spiral intertwined with vertices of purple light. The air around her vibrated slightly. The containment circle responded with a more intense pulsation, as if space itself recognized that a new turning point was approaching.

Iridia and Zex’s swords were positioned side by side, touching the base of the obsidian pedestal. The three fragments of Excalibur, still levitating above the center, intensified their golden light as Viviane began to chant an ancient liturgy of fusion in a low voice.

Runes floated in the air around the altar, composed of forgotten languages—parts of ancient Celtic, ceremonial Elvish, and Avalon incantations. The liquid silver covering the surface of the pedestal began to move, rising like fine tentacles around the fragments and swords.

The heat increased. The sacred aura spread, touching the edges of the containment barrier, making the glyphs on it glow like living embers.

Paimon, now sitting on a side stone, snapped her fingers with feigned boredom, but even she could not hide her attentive gaze. She knew she was witnessing something rare.

Vergil remained motionless. The Yamato, still in his hand, seemed alive and restless—as if it wanted to jump into the center of the ritual, to join the process before its time.

"First, the inheritances," Viviane murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

A white flash enveloped the swords of Iridia and Zex. Then the blades began to disassemble—not into physical parts, but into layers of energy. Spirits and hidden essences that had composed them for decades separated, as if they were being unraveled to their mystical cores.

Viviane made a broader gesture, drawing a new seal on the floor with her fingertips. When the rune was complete, the energy layers of the two swords began to intertwine, weaving a new structure. It was no longer fire, nor ice. Neither light nor darkness. It was something new. A spiritual blade still in gestation.

At that point, the fragments began to react.

The largest fragment, which had once formed the heart of Excalibur’s hilt, emitted a sound that was not a sound—a buzzing in the souls of those present, a vibration directly in the core of their bodies. The other two fragments followed suit, spinning faster and faster, until, in a flash, the three pieces collided.

The impact did not break them. It fused them together.

And for a moment, the world fell silent.

No wind. No sound. No movement.

An ethereal figure, golden and transparent, appeared above the pedestal—not with a defined shape, but with the vague silhouette of a sword floating in the light.

Viviane gasped, sweat dripping down her temple.

"Now... it needs to stabilize," she said through clenched teeth, reaching out her hands and channeling energy. "It’s not a blade yet. It’s still just... raw potential."

She moved one of her hands toward the spiritual fusion of Iridia and Zex’s swords and pushed the resulting energy toward the golden silhouette of the new Excalibur.

What followed was a wave of force that shook the air, like a silent explosion. Paimon was pushed back a few inches. Vergil had to plant his feet to keep from retreating.

The golden sword absorbed the energy from the Catholic swords... and glowed with absurd intensity.

It began to take shape. First, a blade. Then, a delicate and elegant cross-shaped hilt, with traces of the Celtic symbol that Viviane used in her own spells. The sword exuded majesty.

It was beautiful. And it was dangerous.

Viviane staggered and leaned on one knee.

"I managed to stabilize the primary form," she said, between gasps. "But it’s not complete yet. Yamato is still missing."

Vergil took a step forward, looking at the new blade. The feeling it gave off was strange—as if he were standing before something that knew him better than he knew himself. As if it were watching him from inside the blade.

He knew. The last step would be the most delicate. It was there that his body—or his soul—could be destroyed, corrupted, or transformed.

But he did not hesitate.

With a fluid motion, he swung Yamato through the air, made a diagonal cut, and with absolute precision, drove the blade into the floor of the altar, directly in front of the new Excalibur.

The seal reacted.

The circle glowed purple and gold, then crimson red.

Yamato trembled slightly, as if in protest.

Viviane’s eyes widened. "Wait! It’s resisting—"

"No," said Vergil. "It’s recognizing."

The pedestal shook. The golden blade of the new Excalibur oscillated in the air, then rose on its own, as if guided by an invisible will.

Yamato responded with a dark blue flash, releasing a wave of dimensional energy that was immediately absorbed by the other sword. It was as if two opposite poles of reality were colliding and trying to align themselves.

Viviane began to chant the final incantation, sewing the ritual together with the last runes. The seals exploded in cascades of light around the altar. The ground shook. The sea below began to spiral.

At the center of it all, Yamato and the new Excalibur touched each other. Not in metal—but in essence.

And the moment they merged, Vergil felt it.

A direct impact on his soul.

"You’ve come a long way, Boy," Vergil suddenly heard.