Pride would always be his downfall, His' red eyes went wide as his mouth dropped in silent horror as the blade went between his ribs. He remained still in that silent horror a moment before his body started to react in a bad way, something Vergil... almost never does, happened. He screamed, agony ripping through as the purple mist that had shown from the cuts on his legs started to pour our of his chest, the blue lines of Nelo's face started to burn brighter, then start to burn down and vanish.

As Vergil tried to yank the sword out his hand burned on the blade, the red eyes slowly draining if either was looking, replaced with the shade of Dante's, and the realization of just WHAT he had done dawning on him. Not juyst Vergil but the other, the sword burning down the magic infused in his body. The wound unhealing like hers, just like when he first arrived. A chest wound that wouldn't heal.

He tried to pull himself away once more, this time it his hands burned more. Holy objects hurt him like nothing else.