"Culture without strength marches to extinction with the dawn."
—Thus spoke a politician.
Humans once crossed towering mountains and ventured into the deepest seas, forging a miracle upon this land known as the "Golden Age".
But now, only ruins remain.
Herds of Hetero-Creatures roam through the broken walls.
...
Vergil watches from above, his gaze fixed on the movements of those bat-like creatures.
The rhythmic growl of an engine echoes in the distance—a motorcycle, unmistakable in its cadence.
Vergil tilts his head, his attention sharpening as the sound draws nearer.
Then, around the bend, a flash of red cuts through the wreckage.
The rider's gaze snaps toward him as if pulled by instinct, their eyes meeting across the road.
Very tough.
For the first time in a long while, Vergil feels something stir within him.
The motorcycle roars up the collapsed, slanting ruins, its engine snarling as it charges toward the rooftop.
At the edge, the front wheel lifts before the bike soars across the gap and slams down onto the next rooftop.
Vergil watches, his usual disdain for human machinery momentarily eclipsed by reluctant admiration for the rider's exceptional driving skill.
Soon, the bike skids to a halt on the rooftop where he stands, and the white-haired woman dismounts.
According to survivors who escaped the attacked conservation area...
White hair, katana, dark blue coat...
