Sweat had broken out of Virgil's coat, and though the Birdsong air was quite warm. it was likely due to shock than temperature. A coldness had settled into his bones, a sort of comforting numbness that secured in him the knowledge that he was almost there. It was interesting really, to try and die. Virgil was simultaneously pleased by the strength that his old bones seemed to posses, but also quite annoyed by their resilience. Did his mind have no say in this at all? His soul? Had his transgressions somehow fortified his body to make it harder to kill, so that this last act of penance was even harder than he might ever have guessed it to be?

He was an old man now. An old man who had wandered many worlds, who had failed enumerable times. A man who just wanted to die, and leave this life to those who wanted to live. To those who were deserving of it.

 Virgil's eyes turned towards Hubris, who was no more than a dull splotch of brown. The sun had nearly set and it had taken all the colour from the world, save from the brilliant reds of the Heart. Fire and lava still flowed and burned brightly around them, casting brilliant crimson hues around this battlefield. But when would the battlefield become a graveyard?

"Ahh well. We all have our reservations..." He said to the brown shape in the distance, his voice taking on an almost apologetic tone, as if forgiving Hubris for something.

As his sword collided against Isopia's back, Virgil anticipated feeling .. something. The sword was a magical extension of himself, was it not? And yet he felt nothing as the bone of the dead struck against the bones of the living. There was something unsatisfying in that, but Virgil didn't allow himself to dwell on it. Soon, it wouldn't matter. 

Although he could clearly see, despite the dying light, the demi-goddess coming towards him, he did not flinch. This was not because, as you might assume, he was eager to feel the embrace of her horns, but because he knew it was to his tactical advance. Given her currently trajectory, her backside was completely unguarded. Virgil's teeth sought out the exposed flesh of Isopia's neck even as her horns dug into the soft flesh of his neck, tearing down the right side and balancing-out the pain that already screamed for his attention from his left shoulder. Virgil's ears pinned against his skull and a gutter cry of pain, delight, need, necessity, want, meaning, and sadness escaped his lips. There were so many colourful emotions there, that, much like the mixing of a painters palette, the outcome was a brown sound, without life or dimension. His teeth sought her next as he gave the silent command for his ghostly accomplice to try and slice his sword down Isopia's backside. Hopefully, it would draw her attack forward and excite her passions for his blood. In short, hopefully it would piss her off.

Blood dripped down the dappled man's neck, but he could barely feel it. Already the feeling of cold sweat had permeated his bones and sank deep into his flesh. He was more like a dumb corpse now, than a man. 

All was going according to plan.