[ So far as Vergil was concerned--it had been hell. He was grateful that it was only moderately hell for his family--nero, dante, those who had come into the depths of that prison who had come for him. But he would be lying if he were to say he was surprised to see a certain blonde woman hanging in the wings.

He'd never met her.
But Nero had shown him pictures. Had talked about her. And vergil, in all his terrible personable skills, had yet to reach out to her--to thank her for taking care of Nero all this time.

So of course, when she comes forward, to offer to heal him, his eyes level on her with a look that is almost a touch guilty, even if he tries to hide it behind layers of something cooled off--overly calm.

His eyes close.
His belongings. They won't leave without them.
The assurance is... good. He needs Yamato.

She offers to heal him.
He can't help but to laugh. ]

Ordinarily.
My body regenerates at an unreasonably fast level. And wounds like these would hardly stay long enough to matter.

...And yet.

[ these bastards had... done something, so his healing factor was slow. it was not kicking in properly.

he felt... tired. ]

I would accept your aid.
If you would be willing to give it.