Vergil's laughter echoed off the golden columns and floating debris like mocking thunder in the sky of a collapsing world.
He laughed so hard that he had to lean on a broken pillar, his hand on his stomach, his shoulders shaking as if hell itself had cracked a joke.
"Kraggor ate..." he repeated between short laughs, trying to catch his breath. "The Pope..."
Vergil gasped, his eyes watering, staring at Gwen with an incredulous half-smile, still trying to understand if that had really been said.
"No, wait a minute..." he held up his hand, as if asking an invisible audience to calm down. "You're kidding me, right? Like, is this a metaphor? A secret mission with a code name like... 'Swallow the Authority' or some shit?"
Gwen, with her clothes still torn and her expression half-burned by the dimensions she had crossed, simply crossed her arms. Her face? Inexpressive. Serious as a funeral statue.
"No."
Silence.
