[ vergil isn't looking at the litter of bodies right now. He doesn't need to see it--he can smell it. his senses feel sharp, almost to a point of discomfort right now--and while there is most certainly a sense of catharsis seeing the men who'd manhandled him for days on the floor. Soaking up their own blood.

It makes a quiet part of his senses feel satisfied--but it's the same voice that's braying out for his sword. The blade, that part of his soul that he'd finally gotten back after--

He gives his head a shake. ]

I do not even know what day of the week that it is. But I will keep in mind that it is a special occasion.

[ but that aside. ]

It was one of the first thing I remembered. When I woke up here. They took everything we owned, and threw it into some crates in this crowded looking closet.