I'm not worthy of your tears.

The air in the corridors of the L Corporation branch was stale and heavy, smelling of old blood and decaying corpses. The emergency lighting revealed the twisted metal panels and deep scratches on the walls, left by the claws of the creatures that roamed the halls in search of prey. Dante leaned against the cold wall, his mechanical watch counting the beats of his own heart. The pain had subsided, but its echoes still made Dante's legs tremble. Gregor was lifting the newly resurrected Ismael, who had been thrown forcefully by an anomaly. Rodion was leaning on her axe, breathing heavily. Outis, on the other hand, was glaring at a figure with a red gaze standing slightly away. "—With all due respect, but" - Outis narrowed her eyes, clearly not feeling fear for the man standing in front of her - "—We here almost put our heads down, fighting with this... this creature, and the guide all this time just stood and watched, as if we were in a theatrical performance!" "—She's right!" - supported her Heathcliff, rubbing his bruised shoulder. "—What are you here for, huh? For beauty?" I'm not complaining about seeing your face, of course, but some help would be appreciated! After a moment, Heathcliff realized who he had just shouted at and immediately tried to correct the situation. "—I mean... I-I meant..." Vergilius didn't even turn his head. He stood half-turned towards the group, blocking the view of a short, dark-skinned girl with long, ash-colored hair tied in two low ponytails. Charon was silently drawing something on a dusty windowpane. From where the Sinners stood, it was impossible to see what she was drawing. Dante noticed that Vergilius right hand, gripping the hilt of the Gladius, had more pronounced veins than usual. "—Your displeasure is registered," Faust said, brushing off the dust. "—However, Charon's appearance in this mission was not planned. Leaving her on the bus in the current area was risky. Virgil, as a responsible person, could not entrust her safety to employees whose combat skills were below the 4th rank of spotter." "—But it was possible to leave one of us on the bus, wasn't it? After everything we've been through, does he really not trust us?" Sinclair asked quietly, peeking around Faust. "— It's not a matter of trust. It's a matter of statistical probability," she retorted. The arguments subsided as suddenly as they had begun, replaced by mundane conversations. The group, grumbling and cursing every now and then, moved further down the corridor. Dante walked in the middle, trying to listen. Suddenly, someone squeezed into the crowd of Sinners. Turning around, Dante saw that Vergilius had literally pushed Charon into the crowd of Sinners, and he turned around, brandishing the now-split Gladius, which had been a cold, icy blade just a few minutes ago. In the split air, a translucent shadow with dozens of needle-thin limbs materialized for a second, and with a quiet screech, its severed limb burst into steam. The creature that had been pursuing us had backed off, but it was clearly not going to retreat. The sound of metal clanging against metal was sure to attract a crowd. "—What the—" Heathcliff gasped. Virgilius froze, peering into the darkness of the corridor from where they had come. Then he slowly turned his gaze forward, to the fork where they had to go. "—We seem to be surrounded," he said, his voice as steady as ever. "—They've been following us all this time." "—But how?" Ishmael was indignant. "— How did we not hear them? These creatures stomp like shore rats." Vergilius didn't respond. He slowly raised his open palm, signaling for silence. The sinners fell silent. The silence became deafening. And now everyone could clearly hear. "—You didn't hear them," he finally said, not even turning to the Sinners and Dante and Charon, "—because you didn't close your mouths the whole way." He lowered his hand and, without turning around, threw over his shoulder: "— Go ahead. Down the hallway to the right. I'll hold them off." All possible memories of past missions immediately hit Dante's head. Wuthering Heights. The Wild Hunt. Virgilius, left alone with the horde. But then it was different. Now, shadows were beginning to flicker through the dark corridors—huge, some shapeless, with burning eyes. High-class anomalies, released from their containment chambers. < Vergilius, this is madness! > Dante exclaimed, taking a step towards him. < Come with us, we can defend ourselves together! > Faust translated Dante's words to Vergil without delay: "—According to Dante, the current state of affairs is "pure madness". He strongly recommends that you move to our side, believing that collective defense is our only chance. I tend to agree with this assessment." “—Dante’s manager is right!” Don Quixote interjected with sudden force. “—We will not leave you here!” Virgilius only turned his head slightly, giving her a brief look of icy contempt. It was enough. Don Quixote stopped short. "—A collective one? What is it?" he asked, and there was a barely perceptible icy smile in his even tone. "— You haven't closed your mouths for a second since we got here. Your "collective defense," Dante, is a cacophony that will gather all the creatures within a kilometer faster than their own hunger will bring them to us." He took a step forward, cutting himself off from the group, and turned his head slightly so that his profile was visible to Dante. Vergilius eye glinted in the semi-darkness with a cold, scarlet light. "—My calculation," he emphasized the word, as if parrying or mocking Faust's argument, —is simpler and more reliable. "—I am your guide, whose job it is to take you to your destination.” He looked towards the Sinners, some of whom were still exchanging wary glances. "—Alive." There was no cruelty in that look, but an unshakeable certainty that their words meant nothing. He had already made a choice. "—Charon," the girl, who had been standing motionless up to that moment, suddenly whispered. "— doesn't want Ver to leave" Her voice, usually distant and quiet, was trembling now. Vergilius shuddered. It was barely noticeable, but Dante caught the movement. "—Charon, go with the others," he ordered, but there was no usual sarcasm in his voice. Charon, as if she hadn't heard him, stepped forward. Faust tried to grab her arm, but she didn't have time. Charon slipped between the sinners, ran up to Vergilius and grabbed the sleeve of his shirt. She looked up at him. The sinners couldn't see her face, only her back. But Dante could see Vergilius profile. And he could see the mask of composure slip for a fraction of a second. Something that looked like pain flashed in his red eyes. Vergilius quickly glanced back down the corridor, where the shadows were growing clearer, and he could hear the wet slurping and the scraping of metal. Then he turned slowly, almost reverently, and fell to one knee in front of Charon. He was face to face with her. Now the Sinners could see: a transparent tear was slowly rolling down Charon's pale cheek, glistening in the emergency light. Vergilius raised his hand and, with the tips of his fingers, gently, as if she were made of the finest glass, he wiped away the tear. "—Listen, Charon," his voice seemed to have sunk, and it was even more hoarse. "—I am not worthy of your tears." He looked at her with the same expression as always, but his blood-red eyes were filled with a range of emotions that only Dante seemed to see. There was tenderness, guilt, and an endless sense of exhaustion in his gaze. "—You should go with the Sinners." He released her hand, gently but firmly removing her fingers from his sleeve. He stood up. He turned Charon around by the shoulders, facing Dante, and gave her a gentle push. "—Take her away," he ordered, and it was the old Vergil, cold and commanding. "—Now." Dante caught Charon's gaze. There was such a depth of despair in her wide-open eyes that it made his own head ache, like a pain in his temples. His hand reached out to her of its own accord. Dante wanted to keep Charon by his side and do everything he could to ensure her safety for the duration of this mission. < Charon, come on, > he said as gently as he could, gesturing for her to come over. Gregor took one last look at Vergilius, who had his back to them, then approached Dante and Charon, patting the girl on the shoulder. He then helped Dante lead her away from Vergilius, towards the other Sinners, where she would be safe. She did not resist, but walked without taking her eyes off the lone figure with a split Gladius in his hand, standing with his back to them in the middle of the dark corridor. In that darkness, there was a long, vibrating howl that made Dante's ears pop. The shadows surged forward. The Red Gaze stepped into the darkness towards the shadows. And in the next instant, the corridor exploded with a screech, a roar and a steely whistle of dissected air. The Guide left the Sinners only one path, the one he pointed out.