The Rescue of Godfrey Montclair

Back in his personal quarters, Vergil readied himself with the precision of a craftsman. He moved methodically, each action purposeful. His armor of black steel plates layered over light chainmail fit perfectly, allowing him to move with speed and stealth.

On his left hip, he secured his twin European-style sword, its silver edge polished to perfection. On his right thigh, his dagger was fastened in an easy-to-reach sheath. Hidden under his cloak, his wrist-mounted blade locked into place. Finally, his all special gear was put over his back, its sleek, enchanted barrel glowing faintly with runic inscriptions.

Freya checked her gear as well, strapping her two curved daggers to her belt. Her claws, however, were just as deadly as her blades. Her tail swayed with excitement, her wolf-like instincts already sharpening as she prepared for the hunt.

"Ready?" Vergil asked, his voice low and steady.

Freya grinned, her eyes like molten gold. "Born ready."