Though Isopia's words were a kindness, suddenly the urge to have this business over and done with as quickly as possible consumed the warrior. Virgil knew that this process was not one which could be rushed; that his dying moments and all those proceeding them must be given their due prominence in the big scheme of things, still his need for the afterlife and his weariness of this life were like a weight upon his heart that was relentless. 

As Isopia's magic formed, for a moment Virgil lost sight of where he was and what was happening, and allowed himself to marvel at the earthen girl's power. He was now more certain than ever that meeting with Isopia had been serendipitous, and although had he remained where he was, with her rock-bullet careening for his skull, the battle would have ended much sooner, the warrior felt his muscles recoil as adrenaline pumped through his system. His mind knew that to give in would be no better than suicide and that the gates of heaven would remain closed to him. But perhaps more strongly, his body, hardened by years of training, would not be denied this final fight. 

Though age and failing eyesight stayed his movements somewhat, Virgil moved enough such that it was not his head which received the brunt of Isopia's attack, but the left side of his shoulder and neck. Pain echoed downwards in painful rivulets that both screamed glory to god and etched his soul one step closer to death. The pain and devastation his muscles felt was immediate and whole, and although Virgil cried out and tears sprang unbidden to his eyes, there was a ghost of a smile on his lips. This was exactly what he wanted, and more importantly, what he needed. He was no longer a spring chicken, was not infused with a warrior's spirit and a young man's need for danger that allowed him to push his body to its very limits and beyond. But what he was, was honest. And despite the tremors of pain, there was still more that he could do, to sanctify his soul.

Breathlessly he turned towards Isopia, for there was no running now. Rearing up onto his hind legs, he struck out with his right foreleg (the one undamaged by her rocky assault). Ghostly vapors wafted up around him, and what seemed to be a demon holding a sword appeared at his side. The sword was in fact a femur from the Tiger God that Isopia had ultimately killed. Had the two of them known this, perhaps the fated-ness of their meeting would have been even more sweet. The demon-hand struck, brandishing the blade towards Isopia's shoulder and aiming to slice her should she try and shimmy away from Virgil's outstretched foreleg.