Stepping through the door of light didn't feel like teleportation.
Nor like magic.
Nor even like a dimensional shift.
It was like stepping through a thought too ancient to take form.
For a single instant, Vergil felt as if his entire existence had been observed, weighed, cataloged, and accepted before he even took his next step. There was no hostile pressure in that presence. No threat, no immediate judgment, no overwhelming display of power. What existed was something infinitely more disconcerting.
Absolute certainty.
Then the white disappeared.
Vergil emerged onto a vast plain illuminated by an absurdly perfect blue sky. The wind was gentle, warm, carrying the clean scent of fresh grass and distant flowers. The sun shone above him with a comfortable golden light, without aggression, without excessive heat. Just pleasant. The kind of scenery that seemed to exist exclusively to bring peace to any living creature that contemplated it.
