With his back to Mizu, Vergil quirks a brief smile at the mention of a round or two. He feels safe in the assumption that constitutes a light round to the two of them probably isn't the same for others. He reaches to the top shelf within his wardrobe and pulls down the tools from where they've been carefully tucked away. In truth, it had taken some time for Vergil to find the set. Vergil doesn't know the first thing about smithing, but he wouldn't present something not to Mizu's standards. He took his time in doing a bit of research before making the purchase to be certain he wasn't about to be swindled and provide Mizu with tools that would only hinder his craft in the end. He also threw in a little extra to be certain they had an appropriate pack for easy transportation and maintenance.
"That eager to lose, are you?" he says, sliding the wardrobe shut. He continues as he makes his way back over to Mizu, "I should tell you to take your tools and leave. Mostly recovered isn't recovered, and defeating you when you're still injured won't mean much otherwise."
Vergil hesitates for a moment before he holds the pack of tools out to Mizu by the straps.
"Then again, you have interrupted my training. And if you wish to take the place of the heavy bag for the day, who am I to deny you?"
As much as he's tried not to view humans as fragile, inferior beings, he can't entirely deny his own impatience for Mizu's injuries to heal sufficiently. There hasn't been any who provided Vergil the same sort of thrill as their fight in Wintermute, and he's almost find himself craving it. He hasn't... Well, he wouldn't say exactly he's been antsy to fight Mizu again, but there have been some days and nights where he's felt himself tempted to find him again. Vergil always talked himself down though because it wasn't the agreement and Mizu needed time to heal. He had to exert patience that usually came naturally and easily to him.
Most men talk a good game, from the most foolhardy apprentice to the master duelist to an assassin and beyond. Words aren't how you tell the seasoned from the unseasoned. It's in their stance, their moves, and Mizu's seen enough of Vergil's to know he can back them up. All the same, they are fighting words, and her stance shifts ever so slightly. Balanced weight, light on her feet, and ready to spring into action. Should his stance shift, Mizu will be ready for it.
Only to receive the tools and to scowl at the idea beating her like this wouldn't mean much. She's barely injured! In far better shape than when she infiltrated Fowler's castle, much less when she reached the top and faced him for the first time. Mizu stares defiantly at Vergil, convinced well enough of her own value. She has to be able to fight in any condition, not simply at full health. Life doesn't wait. She has half a mind to attack Vergil as he is, though she knows he's not as empty handed as he looks, as most people would be. Not while she's holding the tools. Those are too valuable to risk damaging and to force her to find decent ones herself.
With care, Mizu sets the pack of tools down by the door, out of the way of the main area in the living space. She eyes the bag, quite incapable of fighting back, and harumphs. "You can take whatever handicap you wish," Mizu says, "to make it mean something."
She holds her sword by its sheath. "I take it we try to leave the walls standing." She's smiling.
Although he doesn't disbelieve Mizu when he says that his injuries have mostly healed, Vergil is still mindful of how Mizu moves now. He watches closely for any twinges of pain or awkward movement that would suggest tight bindings were keeping wounds closed. But there's nothing in his movements that would suggest he's still carrying around any significant wounds.
"Anything broken or damaged is on you to repair or replace," Vergil teases. Most of the time, his jokes are likely difficult to discern considering his tone rarely ever shifts meaningfully enough to show it. But there's perhaps just enough of a smile on his face that it translates to his voice that he doesn't actually hold any expectations of Mizu doing anything of the sort. Vergil walks into his training area, bending down as he picks up a spare pair of handwraps. He tosses them in Mizu's direction. "No blades today if we have any hope of the building still standing by the time we're done."
One huff of a laugh comes out at the idea of Mizu paying to fix what they break. She's broken so many buildings across so many villages and towns. One more thing she leaves in her wake, along with the wounded and the dead. That reminds Mizu to purchase or remake the other supplies she brought with her to Fowler's castle—the explosive, the wire. As with the impenetrable fortress, she needs every trick and advantage she can over Vergil. Not today, no, but another day. Mizu catches the wraps Vergil throws and sets aside her sword, her cloak, and her hat hanging down her back. After a moment's consideration, she also removes the tinted glasses, folding them, and setting them beside the rest. Without them, it's clear her eyes are blue, her hideousness on display. Vergil hasn't given a damn about her looks, but if it causes problems, better it does so now, not in the middle of something.
She acts like it's nothing.
"You always use those fancy moves when you fight with a sword?" Mizu asks, mouth quirking up. She wraps her hands the way she sees his are, as she hasn't used them before. She trained alone for years, and in combat, the times she had to use her hands, it wasn't planned. No smooth transition. Even when she wrestled Taigen, it wasn't exactly planned. So she protects her hands, a first for that, and steps further into the room, the training area.
Vergil was going to suggest Mizu remove his glasses if he hadn't already made the decision to do so himself. Although he notices just how strikingly blue Mizu's eyes are without the tint of the lenses—more akin to ice than the near-grayness of his own eyes—Vergil doesn't make any sort of comment about them nor does he otherwise gawk.
"Not always, no," Vergil replies as Mizu begins wrapping his hands. "The filth in the demon world aren't usually intelligent enough to merit that sort of effort."
A good portion of the demons one would face there are little more than beasts themselves. Their decisions are based on instinct more than careful decision-making. If they appear to be acting upon orders, it's like an illusion crafted by a more intelligent demon who understands their nature and instincts. The situation has most certainly been manipulated in those circumstances. The rest that one might commonly run into are only just barely intelligent enough to follow orders as the rank and file of a would-be army. But regardless of whether it's instinct or orders, Yamato has always dispatched them quickly with little need for Vergil's skills even when presenting themselves in numbers against him.
"But I am not the only one who would be a hazard to the structural integrity of the building with a blade in my hand." Mizu may not have the ability to summon blades or a clone of himself to fight in his stead, but raw power like that wasn't always indicative of how damage one could do. That burning fire in Mizu did plenty on its own from what Vergil had already seen with how he ultimately lost a bit of his control. Vergil rolls his shoulders as Mizu steps back into the training area. "Last time, I'll admit, you surprised me. I wasn't anticipating a brawl. But surprising me isn't the same as impressing me. I want to know if you can do better than that."
Unlike the last time they fought, Vergil doesn't merely stand there. This time he adopts a stance. Vergil turns himself slightly, positioning one leg behind and bringing the fist on the same side just below his chin while the other hovers around his waist.
"I know you don't particularly care about that though. I'm not a fool. I know my curiosity is for my own satisfaction. So, consider this an opportunity to learn and train."
It's not said with the sort of arrogance most might have and even Vergil could easily be accused of using frequently. Instead, it's an acknowledgment of what Mizu has mentioned before of watching how others fight and learning what he can from it. Vergil's certain there's something Mizu can learn today in the absence of a weapon and needing to rely upon his own body as a weapon if what happened last time was any indication. And unlike Mizu, Vergil has trained himself to fight just as well with his fists and feet even if his preference will always be with a sword in his hand.
"I won't hit you with the entirety of my strength." Vergil doesn't say this to condescend. Mizu's felt a bit of Vergil's strength the last time when he was able to fling the other swordsman with little effort on his part. If he were to strike Mizu with all his might, their sparring would be over in a single blow. Even if he managed to somehow not kill Mizu, at the very least, the other man would be out cold in an instant. He trusts Mizu to understand that, which is why he offers no clarification. "You are free to do as you wish."
It's not as though Vergil bruises easily or that he's an easy target to hit even in close quarters.
Mizu manages not to roll her eyes at the comment about surprising Vergil not impressing him. About wanting to know if she can do better. So long as he continues to spar and fight with her, Mizu doesn't need his good opinion. She's past wanting people to think well of her. Disappointment and pain are the only things to come of that. A small pang at the thought. Ringo's rejection and cold shoulder. Someone whose opinion she never thought would matter.
Vergil, thankfully, knows that too. Knows his opinion doesn't matter. That makes everything far more acceptable. Tolerable. Comfortable even. As much as Mizu goes everywhere with a sword, it is possible to be caught without it, to have to fight without it. Mizu resists the urge to grab something else to act as a weapon. She's weaker than Vergil. A pure contest of might would go his way. As much as Mizu hates to admit it, even without him using his full strength, it could. No she must use more than that. She must use his strength against him. "You might take down a wall if you did that."
Then he'd have an issue with his neighbor. Not Mizu, though.
She shifts into a stance, adapting from one meant to have a sword, because Mizu has never trained particularly to fight without weapons. Some techniques have come over time. A move here. Another there. The focus, however, has always been swords. Still, she has some experience. She pinned Taigen. Repeatedly.
Mizu closes the gap. A jab. A feint. A move to sweep his front leg out from under him. It isn't a brawl, but Mizu doesn't fight clean either.
Starting from where he knows what to do isn't a bad tactic. The principles aren't altogether dissimilar when it comes to what's important to protect and how to balance offense with defense. It's interesting to watch, too, if Vergil is honest. Without a weapon in his hand, Mizu is immediately forced to adapt and modify. He can't be at the other end of a sword, but must approach far closer if he has any hope of hitting his mark.
It's not a bad attempt. The thought process is correct, in any case, by Vergil's assessment since he doesn't find the attempted sweep to be fighting dirty. Instead, it's a clear strategy. A jab or two to keep an opponent's attention on protecting their head or torso leaves them significantly more vulnerable to any strikes against their legs usually. It might alter their stance just enough that it will send them stumbling even if it can't actually knock them to the ground. But Vergil is naturally heavier than Mizu and his weight doesn't shift back from that front leg nearly enough to send him crashing to the floor or even remotely stumbling after he slaps away Mizu's initial jab.
His swift response somewhat mirrors Mizu's attempt, but with a more disciplined approach rather than the improvisation that Mizu is using. Vergil lashes out twice with his fists to Mizu's torso, and once with an elbow toward his head. It matters little to him if any of his blows land, however, as the real threat is Vergil's back leg. Vergil steps forward with the small flurry, leading him into a vicious kick wherein he attempts to slam his shin directly into Mizu's outer thigh just above his knee joint to destabilize him. If the kick lands, Mizu will either need to stumble and regain his balance, or he will end up on the floor with the force of Vergil's kick alone. After all, Vergil said this was an opportunity to learn.
He never once said the lessons would be gentle.
Then again, it isn't entirely like their last fight for that reason. Vergil isn't seeking to dominate. As he said before, he's not interested in defeating Mizu without Mizu being at his best. There would be time for a proper rematch later. Right here and now, Vergil is more invested in teaching Mizu. He can't exactly see what Mizu learns from a lesson if he's not allowed to demonstrate what he will do with what he's learned. Thus, regardless of the outcome of his assault, Vergil doesn't seek out another attack on Mizu immediately. If he ends up on the ground, Vergil won't offer a hand to avoid insult or misinterpretation, but he gives Mizu the space to get up again. If he stumbles, Vergil lets him regain his footing without further interference. If he manages to avoid it altogether, Vergil lets Mizu close the gap again with his next attempt.
It doesn't matter that it doesn't work. Mizu's excited about the fight regardless. The cleared space provides less of an environment to use against Vergil. No matter. There's little time to think about it as Vergil mirrors her attacks. The blows have to be guided away and avoided so that his own strength becomes her advantage, not something to stop by force. She'd wind up bruised and beaten quickly in that case. That part goes well. Well enough. Mizu's going for survival, for giving her best against Vergil while at a disadvantage, not to be sung praises by some dojo master.
The kick doesn't surprise her. She tried the same thing. However, the close fighting means she cannot easily avoid the kick altogether. Without time to think about it, sure Vergil is used to any and all responses to it, Mizu feels it connect, feels herself slide a couple inches across the floor, and rolls with the direction of the force. Down to the floor and, not being followed there by any additional attacks, back up again. Her eyes narrow at the purposeful way Vergil gives her time, but he can do what he wants. She won't be the sore fool who hates something simply because he's the weaker opponent, in strength, in experience, or in training.
The trouble with some of the kicks or slides, on her side, is that her strength isn't enough to bring him down. It would be best to injure or immobilize one of his limbs. Her attacks this time aim toward his joints. The inside of his elbow. His knee. Moves that if hit right could shatter them. Her expectations aren't high, but she commits to the moves nonetheless.
If Mizu were to strike true and with enough force, Vergil's body would mend itself too quickly to give Mizu an advantage for long. Thus, he could just take the hit and quickly recover, but Vergil would rather not. For one, it's not as though Vergil's tolerance for pain is so high that he wouldn't feel it at all. For another, any opponent Mizu faced off with wouldn't exactly allow him to do something like that. Their bodies wouldn't heal like Vergil's and it wouldn't be a simple training spar between them. An attack like that would be potentially a finisher in those circumstances. So, Mizu commits to the attempt at immobilizing one or more of his limbs, but Vergil remains a difficult target. When he's not adopting more defensive stances—such as drawing his arms close to his torso with elbows bent at times to prevent access—he's also quick to shuffle back so that attempts at his knees land elsewhere on his leg.
Eventually, it's during one of these attempts that Vergil forces the kick to connect with his thigh and before Mizu can retract his leg he grabs Mizu's calf. He could maintain a vice grip on Mizu's leg at that point if he really wanted, leaving Mizu with few options for trying to wriggle free. He could also simply sweep Mizu's remaining foot and send him to the floor immediately. But neither of those are the plan. Instead, Vergil aims a cross jab for Mizu's jaw as he pulls on Mizu's leg, drawing him closer and into the punch. Shortly thereafter, Vergil tosses Mizu's leg aside, forcing a continued downward momentum on him. Vergil fists a hand in Mizu's hair and the other at the scruff of his kimono to pull him further in that direction before slamming his knee up towards Mizu's solar plexus with more than enough force to wind Mizu. If the strike connects, Vergil releases Mizu and allows him the space to catch his breath. If not, Vergil follows with a kick that is meant to push Mizu back regardless of connection or not.
"You're thinking too much like a swordsman," he says, the statement a neutral observation rather than some form of condescension or otherwise negative evaluation. Vergil didn't exactly anticipate Mizu to approach this fight any different than he would crossing blades with someone else. He continues, "Steel equalizes. It doesn't care about my size or my strength. I bleed the same as you."
Vergil doesn't spell it out further than that for Mizu, trusting that he at least understand the point that unrelenting attacks aren't going to serve him well in this. When it's a clashing of blades, reclaiming the offense has to be done with extreme care. A poorly timed or executed attempt is how one might find themselves run through and the fight over for a less durable opponent than Vergil. But in a fight like this where Vergil is larger and stronger, he can easily weather a strike and respond with a ferocious counter of his own. In the end, constantly strike at Vergil creates vulnerabilities that Vergil can and already has taken advantage of to strike back without too much concern. Provided that Mizu understands this, it's up to him what he does with that information as far as Vergil is concerned.
Mizu growls even as she accepts the reality of how much leverage Vergil's hold on her calf gives him. She doesn't fight the grip, all too aware how strong it is and simmering controlled rage. She takes the hit to her jaw but twists and regains her balance enough, even as it pulls at her hair and her kimono, to avoid the knee. They separate, when she would rather tackle Vergil to the floor and pull him against her with an arm around his neck until he passed out. She breathes hard and stares as intently at him.
She's been in hand to hand combat before, usually with stronger men than she even if they aren't as strong as Vergil, but they too have been swordsmen and think like them. She's gotten the better of them. Vergil is better, not relying solely on his strength or his healing to get his way, though he used that strength to an irritating point with beautiful technique just now. It could have come earlier. It could come any time.
Mizu wipes one hand across her face and pulls her kimono into place. Oh, she doesn't need to be tidy, but she doesn't want to reveal the bandages across her chest. Vergil might not take its meaning correctly. Instead he could stop the fight because he thinks she's still healing, but in time, if it comes up enough times, he might figure it out. Let him think she cares about her appearance, as she considers how best to attack him.
Her posture returns to a relaxed and ready position. Mizu stares at and into Vergil with the same intensity as the start of a duel. Move and counterattack predicted. An adjustment in her stance. Again. And again. And again. It plays out far more times in her head than between them. Generally not in her favor. To a fault, once fighting, Mizu is not content to sit back and let her opponent come to her. However, she manages to mentally reset. The start of a new fight. Her hands itch for a blade, a wire, something, but she refuses the idea that she must have one of those to defeat Vergil. It's possible to defeat him, even if she does not manage it today. Not that Mizu's given up. Far from it, the desire to defeat Vergil thrums through her with each beat of her heart.
Mizu attacks with the intention of using his reactions or attacks to move behind him and strangle him. It would go too far to try to break his neck.
Vergil thinks little of Mizu's decision to readjust his kimono. He assumes it's something idle to do while he takes a moment to reset and reassess his options for approach. Vergil remains in his stance, waiting until Mizu is ready to strike. In some ways, Vergil isn't surprised to see the fire return to Mizu's eyes. He's had enough attempts at trying to bring Vergil down or gain the upper hand at the very least, and he's made very little progress. To the half-devil, it's training. It doesn't carry the same intensity as a proper match between them. But Mizu has something to prove to himself, and he clearly won't be satisfied until he has a taste of success.
He has a moment of it at the very least. Vergil continues to block or slap aside Mizu's attacks, occasionally returning with jabs and kicks of his own when he spies the potential opening. He's pleased to see these are not left unanswered. Mizu is just as aggressive as before, but it appears he's finally understood where he could potentially best someone of a greater size and strength than him. Vergil doesn't let Mizu get a hold on his neck. Opponents Mizu would would face would never allow it to happen and Vergil hardly wants to patronize anyway. But in the absence of his trickery with teleportation—which he is notably not using while they spar like this—there is only so far and so long he can go before Mizu is able to latch on and he's forced to tuck his chin before making a quick decision.
Vergil could wrench Mizu's arm off not just from around his neck, but clean out of whichever joint or socket Vergil preferred to take it from. However, considering he's not even so much as willing to break one of Mizu's limbs given how much it would delay their next sparring match, Vergil opts not to utilize such brute strength to free himself. Besides, anyone else Mizu might grapple with like this won't have that kind of strength. It would do little good to unleash that sort of strength on him now when his skills are still developing. There can be another time for that as there could be for the use of any of his other skills and abilities.
Thus, the primary issue to address is their distance to one another. Mizu is just short enough relative to Vergil that with the right application of strength, angle, and/or sweep, he could pull Vergil down to the floor. Or Mizu could simply hop straight onto Vergil's back. Either way, it puts Vergil at a disadvantage for escaping when not using brute strength to free himself as it's distance that he needs and either leaves him without it.
With few options, once Mizu has latched on, Vergil quickly strikes behind himself at Mizu with a sharp kick to his groin. It's not a precise kick given their angle to one another and he's more than willing to kick several times if that's what it takes, but hitting the mark isn't the point. The point is that if it connects, it's enough force to knock Mizu back. If it doesn't, it should force Mizu to naturally step back (albeit not for the reasons Vergil assumes Mizu would want to protect that area). Either way, it forces a loosening of the hold on Vergil's neck and provides him with the opportunity to slip free. Vergil's hand is like a vice against Mizu's wrist as he slips out. He's quick to twist that arm behind Mizu's back and draw Mizu in close against him where striking will be far more difficult, the motion so fluid that to an outside observer it'd look more akin to a dance than fight.
It is only the first time Mizu accomplishes her goal to wrap her arm around Vergil's neck and squeeze tightly in a properly held position to make him lose consciousness if he stays there too long, not that Mizu expects them to simply stand there together until he goes down. Everyone fights it. She's fought it before herself. Mizu adjusts her position to sweep Vergil to the floor when his kick comes.
Fuck.
Mizu leaps backward to avoid the kick, dragging Vergil's head with her, because more than any man, she cannot afford to let that kick land. Her move is interrupted, and Vergil gets exactly what he wants—a way out. His large hands and his powerful strength means Mizu, however, does not. Were she in fear for her life, Mizu could break her wrist or her arm to get out, but that doesn't serve her here. Besides, it's hardly the first time she's been held in this sort of position. There's other moves first, even if some of them would earn Vergil's disapproval. For some reason, in the moment, Mizu cares about that. Stupid really.
"Not only you."
Despite being shorter than him, she bashes her head backward toward his and in a minor fit of spite kicks toward his groin. Either he'll evade it or feel enough pain to distract him long enough. Mizu's quick to learn other people's moves, not that kicking a man in the groin has remained miraculously undiscovered until this date, and uses the chance to each over herself to grab whatever she can grab—jacket, ear, hair, it doesn't matter—and moves into a roll aimed to take him with her, death grip on her arm and all. She can use him as cushioning to land, should it go well, and in so doing perhaps loosen that grip a little bit. Whether she accomplishes it or not, she adjusts her position based off his, to accommodate and bring it with her.
Sometimes Mizu thinks she might need to stuff an explosive in his neck to kill him, but no that probably wouldn't do the trick either.
Vergil jerks his head back when Mizu attempts to headbutt him. It leaves him just distracted enough that the first kick manages to land. While there is no version of a kick to the groin that would ever feel comfortable, their proximity prevents too much power from being built up into that kick that he doesn't drop immediately and is able to keep enough of his wits about him to twist his hips in such a way that subsequent kicks land on his hip and upper thigh. The less painful way would be to simply evade the follow up kicks, but Vergil doesn't want to relent the space between them if he can help it. Thus, the most he can do is grunt and endure. But it may have been the wiser choice to relent the space in the end. Mizu's fingers twist in Vergil's hair, pulling at his scalp just a moment before Mizu sends them both tumbling to the floor.
The weight of them both going down to the floor so abruptly causes a few things around Vergil's apartment to rattle slightly. But nothing falls from its place. Not yet, in any case. It's not as though the pair of them are simply still after their fall. Mizu starts to adjust his position atop Vergil.
Last time Vergil found himself on his back beneath Mizu, it had been a surprise. There had been no real time to think as they went from swordplay to grappling in an instant, and Mizu became more immediately erratic. But this time, he's a little more prepared. Still hard any time to think, but prepared to find himself in this position. He still has a firm hold on Mizu's wrist between them even if the angle is a touch more awkward now. It gives him a leverage point, however, and he pushes up on Mizu to sidle out from beneath him and attempt to flip Mizu over onto his stomach. Regardless of whether or not that's how Mizu ends up on the floor, they're soon a tangle of limbs as Vergil looks to pin Mizu to the floor and Mizu undoubtedly fights back. But it's here where Vergil's size and weight become much more of a problem rather than when they were standing and exchanging strikes. Vergil isn't shy about pressing himself into Mizu to start wresting control over their position over further and further into his control, and he doesn't intend on relenting until he has a firm hold on Mizu regardless of whatever tactics the other intends to use.
It probably says something poor about Mizu's experiences that she has wound up on the floor or ground grappling with someone multiple times before and all of them with bigger men than she. Vergil maintains that annoying grasp on her wrist that limits some of her movements. She breathes heavily and works her way through various attempts at positions, thwarted time and again. No time for frustration besides the energy to keep going. At one point, Mizu gets mostly behind Vergil, but she doesn't succeed in completing a position to force Vergil to lose before it shifts again. He's attached to her as well as her attached to him, but Mizu pays the bigger penalty for it.
Even so, Mizu never simply gives in, not easily, same as she does not fight as dirty as she would were she honestly fighting for her life. It isn't even the most she's been crushed, Vergil not weighing more than a door with many men atop it crushing her into the ground. Only when Mizu cannot move in any meaningful way does she let out a huff.
"I get it. You have an advantage on the floor."
He's more challenging than her opponents in the past, Mizu already knew that, and she exercised some restraint as well. Some might call it civility, but she's rarely had reason to use it. Vergil... may be the first. Mizu isn't used to it at any rate, nor of grappling with someone better at it than she is. Yet another failing and flawed approach on her part. Vergil is aggravating but not because he's an ass. He's been anything but. The faults lie with her, and Vergil's showcased that unpleasantly well.
The trouble is she doesn't know what kind of fighters her remaining two possible fathers are. Fowler was large and strong and experienced. Vicious. Yet he called himself one of the less terrifying of the men she seeks. An easier target.
Vergil relents once Mizu recognizes he's not getting out from Vergil's hold. Not without fighting with more intensity than is warranted for here and now. But even as there's a bit of smile and lighter expression on his face, he doesn't mock Mizu for his frustrations nor for ultimately having to concede.
"I'm sure you do." Vergil says as he sits back to give Mizu the space to sit up himself, bringing one of his knees closer and resting his elbow on it and holding that wrist loosely with his opposite hand. If it wasn't for how heavily Mizu is breathing now and even Vergil showing a slight amount of being winded after how much Mizu tried to free himself, anyone looking at them would likely think they just made the odd decision to sit in the middle of Vergil's floor to converse. "But I think that's enough for now. Exhaust yourself too much and you'll end up straying from what technique you've started to develop out of frustration. Better that you maintain your discipline than push beyond your limits today."
Vergil considers it for a moment before he looks away and pushes himself back up to his feet.
"You did well."
It might not have been enough to beat Vergil. His technique, size, and strength all were strong factors in the outcome of their sparring today, and he wouldn't downplay that. But neither would it do well to downplay how much growth Mizu demonstrated in a singular sparring in hand-to-hand. He was adaptive and thoughtful about each of his approaches even if they didn't turn out the results he would have liked. He began with his foundations as a swordsman, but he didn't allow that to limit him. Instead, even as much as it might have frustrated and pissed him off in the moment, he took Vergil's feedback both in his physical actions and words, and did something with it.
So, he didn't win and he might have the right to be dissatisfied with that, but victory was hardly the sole metric to be found here today.
He thinks to offer a hand to Mizu to help him to his feet, but opts instead to begin undoing the wrappings around his hands instead and let Mizu get to his feet on his own.
Mizu sits immediately in a smooth movement. As Vergil remains stiting for a moment, Mizu does as well. Her breathing returns more toward normal, now she's no longer squirming like a greased pig. Her head snaps toward Vergil when he rejects the idea of going again. She isn't so far gone she'll forget what she's learned. She can do better at keeping him in a headlock, now she has one more defense to anticipate. The urge to belabor the point rises, but Mizu bites it back. No doubt Vergil would be as much a solid wall denying her no matter what she said. No point wasting the words.
To be fair, she didn't expect any form of sparring when she stopped by today, and she wasn't injured. They'll spar again soon. Mizu's come out ahead.
"I'll do better," Mizu promises as she stands, still light on her feet. Her energy has only increased from this exercise. She'll practice the moves on her own time in her own space, both hers and some of the ones she saw him use. If it weren't for Vergil, Mizu would spend practically no time injured at all in Folkmore (so far), and that would be a far stranger feeling.
So she undoes the wraps, mindful of Vergil though there's no more promise of sparring. His apartment hardly competes for her attention, sparse as it is.
"Why are you so good at hand to hand combat?" The question betrays her bias. He's a strong swordsman, and he has all that devil stuff, of which Mizu's certain she hasn't seen the half of. With all that, how did he also become so good at this form of combat? Why did he bother? How is he so damn good at all of it? Necessity, she knows, must be part of the answer, but it's hard to fathom him having a difficult time with... most combat.
Mizu promises to do better next time and Vergil spares him a glance at that. It's not doubt in Vergil's eyes, but perhaps a bit of hope that he will make good on that. Even if it's not right away. But who knows? Next time, Mizu might be able to get further than he did today.
"When one has as obnoxious of a little brother as I do, you learn at quite an early age how to beat the hell out of someone with your fists alone," Vergil says, the answer coming perhaps more naturally and smoothly than anything he's ever said to Mizu. But there's a pause as he's unwrapping one of his hands that he realizes he's never made mention of his brother until now. It's not been anything that he's intentionally hidden necessarily, but Dante has never come up in conversation before now. And why should he? Vergil may (sometimes begrudgingly) miss him, but that's not exactly business for anyone else to know. And no one would exactly think to ask him if he has any siblings anyway. He finishes with unwrapping his hand and begins to roll the wrappings together, seemingly quite focused on the task for a moment. "You would think there might be more peace between twins since our age difference isn't in years, but Dante has a way of always causing a ruckus wherever he goes and he was often close behind me as children."
And as adults, too. Just never close enough because Vergil never allowed it. He swallows back that regret and replaces the wrappings back to their appropriate spot within his training area. Vergil opts to brush past the revelation of a twin brother and anything that might come with it to provide the other half of the answer to Mizu's question.
"There isn't a weapon I cannot master, however. It is something I inherited from my father," he continues as he steps over to the portion of his studio apartment that serves as his sleeping area once more. This time, he collects the amulet from the nightstand, unclasping the golden chain to put it back on. No doubt the thing doesn't look like something Vergil would ever choose for himself, both stone and chain being far warmer than his usual cool tones with red and gold. "As it so happens, I acquired a devil arm for a time that enhanced my hand-to-hand while it was still in my possession, and I do what I can to maintain those skills without it."
Vergil steps over to his wardrobe for a shirt and pulls it on. He doesn't put the necklace above the shirt, keeping it tucked away.
Though Mizu never had a sibling, she saw the village boys play together, and it was much the same. If she stayed living on the streets and wasn't killed, she likely would have gained the same skills. Fought even more with Taigen and the boys who surrounded him. Perhaps she'd be that kind of fighter instead of a swordsman, hopefully one with better technique than pure brawling. Mizu usually doesn't look back at her life and wonder about those differences, focused as she is on the future and moving forward. In the end, it doesn't matter. She is who she is now and lived the life she has.
There is more to Vergil and his twin Dante. Mizu has little context as to what, knowing only the few words Vergil says here about his brother. However, all that is overshadowed by what Vergil says next. Mizu straightens and stares at Vergil hard. The wraps in her hand are forgotten next to some inherited ability to master weapons, compared to whatever a devil arm is improving his hand-to-hand skills, so that he only has to maintain those abilities, not master them in the first place.
"You cheat," Mizu declares, half-shocked half-irritated all to hell. As though Vergil doesn't have enough advantages over her, but he doesn't have to try anywhere near as hard as a normal person, as Mizu, to learn the skills in the first place? Yes, the urge to barrel into him and grapple yet again is there, but Mizu knows that will not (likely) end well for her. Vergil already said they were done, and he's dressed again in an unusual amulet and shirt, all committed to that fact.
That's not fair, Mizu doesn't say. It only increases her desire to beat him, to knock him unconscious by learning to get better the hard way, the long way. Though it is frustrating how much that gets slowed down by being injured. She's always dealt with injuries, but it slows things down. Mizu only has so much time in Folkmore. The thought of leaving without defeating Vergil burns something within her. She will manage it through her own blood and sweat and effort. She rolls the wrappings together messily as that gains far more of her attention. No that isn't how he started, with a brother, but it's part of how he's gotten to where he is now.
They are only two words, but they feel akin to a slap in the face all the same. Vergil has never made it a secret that his demonic heritage provides him with a number of advantages over that of a human. In fact, he wears it as a point of pride to have been born a son of Sparda. And just as he hasn't feigned ignorance to his advantages, he's never felt the nature or spoken of his birth as though it was something he earned. Vergil isn't a fool. He knows that boils down to luck of the draw. He had no more control over that than he would over something like the weather. But if it were all a matter of his birth, if it was all down to luck and inheritance, and there had been nothing Vergil earned...
His mother wouldn't have died that day. He wouldn't have lost Dante and struggled to accept him again. He wouldn't have been absent for the entirety of Nero's life. He wouldn't have spent a decade as a slave to his father's enemy and his mother's murderer, and a little over a decade more in the demon realm with his crumbling flesh. He wouldn't have been forced and reduced to so little that he was a mere shell of himself or sometimes, at best, just barely surviving. There would have never been any struggle even once in his life if it were all down to that because why would such privilege allow for anything like that to happen? He would never have been so weak as to lose anyone that he loved, to have himself rent from him so violently, or to have known that bitter taste of defeat after defeat.
But even within the reality that his birth was not enough to prevent the violence and pain that's made up the fabric of Vergil's life: he would not have survived any of it if it was solely down to that alone. That much is certain. It was not his birth that caused Vergil to survive. It was him. His motivation and will to not just live but never to know weakness or helplessness, as he had before, developed his skills beyond mere technical ability, and into something that made him a formidable opponent to all that would oppose him. How else could he have pressed forward as he felt his life fading from his body, hardly able to walk or stand upright any longer?
Mizu knows little of any of it, of course. He's only been told of the helplessness that Vergil felt the day his mother died, and what a driving force that had been for him the rest of his life. And he's now seen firsthand what Vergil can do with and without a blade in his hands, the way he can read and respond to the flow of battle as naturally as he is able to draw breath. But what little Mizu knows doesn't matter to Vergil in the moment as he feels the dismissal of all that he is being boiled down to luck and something more akin to a cheap trick or tactic with just two words.
Vergil firmly slides his wardrobe door shut once more. He stands there a moment, his jaw tensing slightly and relaxing once more before he decides against it. He's learned to walk with his nightmares and his failures, accept them as part of himself. But he's far from comfortable with the notion of acknowledging them to someone else. Not even in his own defense. He simply shouldn't have to defend himself. His own merit and skill and continued existence should speak for itself.
It also shouldn't bother him that Mizu's opinion of his skills may be undermined by his nature as a half-devil. What's the opinion of a human who hardly knows anything about him? All the more reason not to defend himself against what feels an accusation. But it does. Bother him. There's no reason why Vergil should even bother sparring with someone like Mizu. What difference does it make to him if he has the skills enough to survive his quest for revenge? He owes Mizu absolutely nothing, and a human arguably has no business crossing blades with someone like Vergil. But Vergil has taken that time. He's found reward in it. He's found someone that he...respects. That he admires the drive and determination of, and the strength there is to be found in refusing to give up simply because the odds are stacked against him.
And that same person says that he cheats to have his skill.
Vergil wants it to not matter. To reduce Mizu down to what he is as he just did to Vergil. But it matters and he can't bring himself to truly do the same.
"If you wish to think of it that way, so be it."
Any semblance of the ease to which he spoke of Dante or offered his explanation has evaporated, but he doesn't sound angry or terse. He's noticeably withdrawing, not lashing out. So, Vergil is merely to the point and concise, firmly declaring that it doesn't matter as he rejoins Mizu. He nods to the wrappings messily rolled in Mizu's hands.
"Keep them. For your own practice or however else you see fit to use them."
Mizu knows nothing about why Vergil reacts the way he does. No one likes to be called a cheat. At a later time, Mizu may reflect on it further and wonder what's behind that reaction, but that kind of reaction is also what she expects from people. Say the wrong thing, and they pull back. They leave. Mizu would not be surprised if Vergil refused to spar with her any further for saying such a thing, for it to be a line she shouldn't have crossed, true as it is. Except it is not as though Vergil will walk away in his own home. It would be infinitely awkward if he did.
Instead Mizu moves to gather her things. She glances down at the wraps, unused to protecting herself during practice but acknowledging it's likely for the best. Mizu stands there awkwardly, as though she doesn't belong and shouldn't be there, even as Vergil continues to talk evenly and calmly. It's not the kind of situation where Mizu leans on manners, not after being that rude. So she nods, muttering "okay," and adds them to the set of tools Vergil gave her. That itself makes her feel further uncomfortable. He didn't have to do that. Mizu didn't expect it. Honestly, he doesn't entirely make sense to her. It's so much easier when they're sparring than the bits of conversation. Mizu admits she might be escalating this moment, but it rings true to other moments, so she isn't certain.
"It's only a couple days," more like three but Mizu always underestimates it, "until I'm completely healed. Only a couple after that before I've remade what I need for the naginata."
Vergil silently watches Mizu as he gathers his things. He wasn't exactly trying to kick Mizu out of his apartment, but there's an undeniable shift now that they are no longer sparring. That in of itself is not odd considering it's what happened the first time as well, but this bit of clumsiness between them doesn't sit the same with Vergil. He can't imagine it does for Mizu either.
The other swordsman provides his proposed timeline and Vergil considers it. Or more accurately, his gaze drops to Mizu's side that took the brunt of Vergil's attack. Without laying eyes on the wound itself, there's no telling if Mizu's estimate is accurate. And that's assuming Vergil even has a decent enough sense of how long a wound like that would take to heal on a human without any sort of acceleration which he frankly doubts he possesses. But it seems a fair estimation to Vergil all the same. His movements today didn't seem particularly inhibited by his wound.
"Four days then," Vergil says, lifting his eyes to meet Mizu's again with a slight nod. "Whether you're ready for me or not, I'll find you again."
And if he's not ready, then that's on Mizu to figure out and entirely his fault for putting himself in that position. Vergil doesn't think Mizu would inherently disagree with that either. He probably wouldn't have even argued with Vergil about sparring again if Vergil hadn't been so adamant that he wanted Mizu completely healed first. With Mizu seemingly intent on leaving, Vergil walks to the door to politely open it for him.
"And as far as keeping score is concerned, today doesn't count." It was a training session. Not a real contest. A chance for Vergil to practice and for Mizu to learn. "Next time I see you, I won't hold back as much as I did today. And I won't relent until I've claimed my victory."
He won't allow his skills to be called into question again by the end of it.
It will be a busy four days, but that suits Mizu fine. She can handle the time away from the library and the books that have become so much of her life. It will do her good to forge her equipment for herself and to focus solely on doing that while she does so. She'll make sure to be complete and ready by the time Vergil finds her. If not, that's on her. She gave the timeline, so it's hardly a surprise to be attacked, no matter where he finds her.
It's a promise that they will carry on, and that proving true, for next time and the time after that, is far more important than anything else. Mizu will not have the chance to improve enough to beat him unless they keep going. Her step is a little lighter at his words. It's what she wants.
"We'll see about that," Mizu says. As much as she knows how it will likely go, she refuses to accept defeat before it comes. That only guarantees it. "I'll be ready."
And that's that. Almost none of their interaction what she expected that day, some better, some worse. She leaves for Wintermute where the chill will center her. Mizu can always think better there.
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"That eager to lose, are you?" he says, sliding the wardrobe shut. He continues as he makes his way back over to Mizu, "I should tell you to take your tools and leave. Mostly recovered isn't recovered, and defeating you when you're still injured won't mean much otherwise."
Vergil hesitates for a moment before he holds the pack of tools out to Mizu by the straps.
"Then again, you have interrupted my training. And if you wish to take the place of the heavy bag for the day, who am I to deny you?"
As much as he's tried not to view humans as fragile, inferior beings, he can't entirely deny his own impatience for Mizu's injuries to heal sufficiently. There hasn't been any who provided Vergil the same sort of thrill as their fight in Wintermute, and he's almost find himself craving it. He hasn't... Well, he wouldn't say exactly he's been antsy to fight Mizu again, but there have been some days and nights where he's felt himself tempted to find him again. Vergil always talked himself down though because it wasn't the agreement and Mizu needed time to heal. He had to exert patience that usually came naturally and easily to him.
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Only to receive the tools and to scowl at the idea beating her like this wouldn't mean much. She's barely injured! In far better shape than when she infiltrated Fowler's castle, much less when she reached the top and faced him for the first time. Mizu stares defiantly at Vergil, convinced well enough of her own value. She has to be able to fight in any condition, not simply at full health. Life doesn't wait. She has half a mind to attack Vergil as he is, though she knows he's not as empty handed as he looks, as most people would be. Not while she's holding the tools. Those are too valuable to risk damaging and to force her to find decent ones herself.
With care, Mizu sets the pack of tools down by the door, out of the way of the main area in the living space. She eyes the bag, quite incapable of fighting back, and harumphs. "You can take whatever handicap you wish," Mizu says, "to make it mean something."
She holds her sword by its sheath. "I take it we try to leave the walls standing." She's smiling.
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"Anything broken or damaged is on you to repair or replace," Vergil teases. Most of the time, his jokes are likely difficult to discern considering his tone rarely ever shifts meaningfully enough to show it. But there's perhaps just enough of a smile on his face that it translates to his voice that he doesn't actually hold any expectations of Mizu doing anything of the sort. Vergil walks into his training area, bending down as he picks up a spare pair of handwraps. He tosses them in Mizu's direction. "No blades today if we have any hope of the building still standing by the time we're done."
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She acts like it's nothing.
"You always use those fancy moves when you fight with a sword?" Mizu asks, mouth quirking up. She wraps her hands the way she sees his are, as she hasn't used them before. She trained alone for years, and in combat, the times she had to use her hands, it wasn't planned. No smooth transition. Even when she wrestled Taigen, it wasn't exactly planned. So she protects her hands, a first for that, and steps further into the room, the training area.
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"Not always, no," Vergil replies as Mizu begins wrapping his hands. "The filth in the demon world aren't usually intelligent enough to merit that sort of effort."
A good portion of the demons one would face there are little more than beasts themselves. Their decisions are based on instinct more than careful decision-making. If they appear to be acting upon orders, it's like an illusion crafted by a more intelligent demon who understands their nature and instincts. The situation has most certainly been manipulated in those circumstances. The rest that one might commonly run into are only just barely intelligent enough to follow orders as the rank and file of a would-be army. But regardless of whether it's instinct or orders, Yamato has always dispatched them quickly with little need for Vergil's skills even when presenting themselves in numbers against him.
"But I am not the only one who would be a hazard to the structural integrity of the building with a blade in my hand." Mizu may not have the ability to summon blades or a clone of himself to fight in his stead, but raw power like that wasn't always indicative of how damage one could do. That burning fire in Mizu did plenty on its own from what Vergil had already seen with how he ultimately lost a bit of his control. Vergil rolls his shoulders as Mizu steps back into the training area. "Last time, I'll admit, you surprised me. I wasn't anticipating a brawl. But surprising me isn't the same as impressing me. I want to know if you can do better than that."
Unlike the last time they fought, Vergil doesn't merely stand there. This time he adopts a stance. Vergil turns himself slightly, positioning one leg behind and bringing the fist on the same side just below his chin while the other hovers around his waist.
"I know you don't particularly care about that though. I'm not a fool. I know my curiosity is for my own satisfaction. So, consider this an opportunity to learn and train."
It's not said with the sort of arrogance most might have and even Vergil could easily be accused of using frequently. Instead, it's an acknowledgment of what Mizu has mentioned before of watching how others fight and learning what he can from it. Vergil's certain there's something Mizu can learn today in the absence of a weapon and needing to rely upon his own body as a weapon if what happened last time was any indication. And unlike Mizu, Vergil has trained himself to fight just as well with his fists and feet even if his preference will always be with a sword in his hand.
"I won't hit you with the entirety of my strength." Vergil doesn't say this to condescend. Mizu's felt a bit of Vergil's strength the last time when he was able to fling the other swordsman with little effort on his part. If he were to strike Mizu with all his might, their sparring would be over in a single blow. Even if he managed to somehow not kill Mizu, at the very least, the other man would be out cold in an instant. He trusts Mizu to understand that, which is why he offers no clarification. "You are free to do as you wish."
It's not as though Vergil bruises easily or that he's an easy target to hit even in close quarters.
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Vergil, thankfully, knows that too. Knows his opinion doesn't matter. That makes everything far more acceptable. Tolerable. Comfortable even. As much as Mizu goes everywhere with a sword, it is possible to be caught without it, to have to fight without it. Mizu resists the urge to grab something else to act as a weapon. She's weaker than Vergil. A pure contest of might would go his way. As much as Mizu hates to admit it, even without him using his full strength, it could. No she must use more than that. She must use his strength against him. "You might take down a wall if you did that."
Then he'd have an issue with his neighbor. Not Mizu, though.
She shifts into a stance, adapting from one meant to have a sword, because Mizu has never trained particularly to fight without weapons. Some techniques have come over time. A move here. Another there. The focus, however, has always been swords. Still, she has some experience. She pinned Taigen. Repeatedly.
Mizu closes the gap. A jab. A feint. A move to sweep his front leg out from under him. It isn't a brawl, but Mizu doesn't fight clean either.
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It's not a bad attempt. The thought process is correct, in any case, by Vergil's assessment since he doesn't find the attempted sweep to be fighting dirty. Instead, it's a clear strategy. A jab or two to keep an opponent's attention on protecting their head or torso leaves them significantly more vulnerable to any strikes against their legs usually. It might alter their stance just enough that it will send them stumbling even if it can't actually knock them to the ground. But Vergil is naturally heavier than Mizu and his weight doesn't shift back from that front leg nearly enough to send him crashing to the floor or even remotely stumbling after he slaps away Mizu's initial jab.
His swift response somewhat mirrors Mizu's attempt, but with a more disciplined approach rather than the improvisation that Mizu is using. Vergil lashes out twice with his fists to Mizu's torso, and once with an elbow toward his head. It matters little to him if any of his blows land, however, as the real threat is Vergil's back leg. Vergil steps forward with the small flurry, leading him into a vicious kick wherein he attempts to slam his shin directly into Mizu's outer thigh just above his knee joint to destabilize him. If the kick lands, Mizu will either need to stumble and regain his balance, or he will end up on the floor with the force of Vergil's kick alone. After all, Vergil said this was an opportunity to learn.
He never once said the lessons would be gentle.
Then again, it isn't entirely like their last fight for that reason. Vergil isn't seeking to dominate. As he said before, he's not interested in defeating Mizu without Mizu being at his best. There would be time for a proper rematch later. Right here and now, Vergil is more invested in teaching Mizu. He can't exactly see what Mizu learns from a lesson if he's not allowed to demonstrate what he will do with what he's learned. Thus, regardless of the outcome of his assault, Vergil doesn't seek out another attack on Mizu immediately. If he ends up on the ground, Vergil won't offer a hand to avoid insult or misinterpretation, but he gives Mizu the space to get up again. If he stumbles, Vergil lets him regain his footing without further interference. If he manages to avoid it altogether, Vergil lets Mizu close the gap again with his next attempt.
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The kick doesn't surprise her. She tried the same thing. However, the close fighting means she cannot easily avoid the kick altogether. Without time to think about it, sure Vergil is used to any and all responses to it, Mizu feels it connect, feels herself slide a couple inches across the floor, and rolls with the direction of the force. Down to the floor and, not being followed there by any additional attacks, back up again. Her eyes narrow at the purposeful way Vergil gives her time, but he can do what he wants. She won't be the sore fool who hates something simply because he's the weaker opponent, in strength, in experience, or in training.
The trouble with some of the kicks or slides, on her side, is that her strength isn't enough to bring him down. It would be best to injure or immobilize one of his limbs. Her attacks this time aim toward his joints. The inside of his elbow. His knee. Moves that if hit right could shatter them. Her expectations aren't high, but she commits to the moves nonetheless.
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Eventually, it's during one of these attempts that Vergil forces the kick to connect with his thigh and before Mizu can retract his leg he grabs Mizu's calf. He could maintain a vice grip on Mizu's leg at that point if he really wanted, leaving Mizu with few options for trying to wriggle free. He could also simply sweep Mizu's remaining foot and send him to the floor immediately. But neither of those are the plan. Instead, Vergil aims a cross jab for Mizu's jaw as he pulls on Mizu's leg, drawing him closer and into the punch. Shortly thereafter, Vergil tosses Mizu's leg aside, forcing a continued downward momentum on him. Vergil fists a hand in Mizu's hair and the other at the scruff of his kimono to pull him further in that direction before slamming his knee up towards Mizu's solar plexus with more than enough force to wind Mizu. If the strike connects, Vergil releases Mizu and allows him the space to catch his breath. If not, Vergil follows with a kick that is meant to push Mizu back regardless of connection or not.
"You're thinking too much like a swordsman," he says, the statement a neutral observation rather than some form of condescension or otherwise negative evaluation. Vergil didn't exactly anticipate Mizu to approach this fight any different than he would crossing blades with someone else. He continues, "Steel equalizes. It doesn't care about my size or my strength. I bleed the same as you."
Vergil doesn't spell it out further than that for Mizu, trusting that he at least understand the point that unrelenting attacks aren't going to serve him well in this. When it's a clashing of blades, reclaiming the offense has to be done with extreme care. A poorly timed or executed attempt is how one might find themselves run through and the fight over for a less durable opponent than Vergil. But in a fight like this where Vergil is larger and stronger, he can easily weather a strike and respond with a ferocious counter of his own. In the end, constantly strike at Vergil creates vulnerabilities that Vergil can and already has taken advantage of to strike back without too much concern. Provided that Mizu understands this, it's up to him what he does with that information as far as Vergil is concerned.
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She's been in hand to hand combat before, usually with stronger men than she even if they aren't as strong as Vergil, but they too have been swordsmen and think like them. She's gotten the better of them. Vergil is better, not relying solely on his strength or his healing to get his way, though he used that strength to an irritating point with beautiful technique just now. It could have come earlier. It could come any time.
Mizu wipes one hand across her face and pulls her kimono into place. Oh, she doesn't need to be tidy, but she doesn't want to reveal the bandages across her chest. Vergil might not take its meaning correctly. Instead he could stop the fight because he thinks she's still healing, but in time, if it comes up enough times, he might figure it out. Let him think she cares about her appearance, as she considers how best to attack him.
Her posture returns to a relaxed and ready position. Mizu stares at and into Vergil with the same intensity as the start of a duel. Move and counterattack predicted. An adjustment in her stance. Again. And again. And again. It plays out far more times in her head than between them. Generally not in her favor. To a fault, once fighting, Mizu is not content to sit back and let her opponent come to her. However, she manages to mentally reset. The start of a new fight. Her hands itch for a blade, a wire, something, but she refuses the idea that she must have one of those to defeat Vergil. It's possible to defeat him, even if she does not manage it today. Not that Mizu's given up. Far from it, the desire to defeat Vergil thrums through her with each beat of her heart.
Mizu attacks with the intention of using his reactions or attacks to move behind him and strangle him. It would go too far to try to break his neck.
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He has a moment of it at the very least. Vergil continues to block or slap aside Mizu's attacks, occasionally returning with jabs and kicks of his own when he spies the potential opening. He's pleased to see these are not left unanswered. Mizu is just as aggressive as before, but it appears he's finally understood where he could potentially best someone of a greater size and strength than him. Vergil doesn't let Mizu get a hold on his neck. Opponents Mizu would would face would never allow it to happen and Vergil hardly wants to patronize anyway. But in the absence of his trickery with teleportation—which he is notably not using while they spar like this—there is only so far and so long he can go before Mizu is able to latch on and he's forced to tuck his chin before making a quick decision.
Vergil could wrench Mizu's arm off not just from around his neck, but clean out of whichever joint or socket Vergil preferred to take it from. However, considering he's not even so much as willing to break one of Mizu's limbs given how much it would delay their next sparring match, Vergil opts not to utilize such brute strength to free himself. Besides, anyone else Mizu might grapple with like this won't have that kind of strength. It would do little good to unleash that sort of strength on him now when his skills are still developing. There can be another time for that as there could be for the use of any of his other skills and abilities.
Thus, the primary issue to address is their distance to one another. Mizu is just short enough relative to Vergil that with the right application of strength, angle, and/or sweep, he could pull Vergil down to the floor. Or Mizu could simply hop straight onto Vergil's back. Either way, it puts Vergil at a disadvantage for escaping when not using brute strength to free himself as it's distance that he needs and either leaves him without it.
With few options, once Mizu has latched on, Vergil quickly strikes behind himself at Mizu with a sharp kick to his groin. It's not a precise kick given their angle to one another and he's more than willing to kick several times if that's what it takes, but hitting the mark isn't the point. The point is that if it connects, it's enough force to knock Mizu back. If it doesn't, it should force Mizu to naturally step back (albeit not for the reasons Vergil assumes Mizu would want to protect that area). Either way, it forces a loosening of the hold on Vergil's neck and provides him with the opportunity to slip free. Vergil's hand is like a vice against Mizu's wrist as he slips out. He's quick to twist that arm behind Mizu's back and draw Mizu in close against him where striking will be far more difficult, the motion so fluid that to an outside observer it'd look more akin to a dance than fight.
"Better. But I won't submit that easily."
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Fuck.
Mizu leaps backward to avoid the kick, dragging Vergil's head with her, because more than any man, she cannot afford to let that kick land. Her move is interrupted, and Vergil gets exactly what he wants—a way out. His large hands and his powerful strength means Mizu, however, does not. Were she in fear for her life, Mizu could break her wrist or her arm to get out, but that doesn't serve her here. Besides, it's hardly the first time she's been held in this sort of position. There's other moves first, even if some of them would earn Vergil's disapproval. For some reason, in the moment, Mizu cares about that. Stupid really.
"Not only you."
Despite being shorter than him, she bashes her head backward toward his and in a minor fit of spite kicks toward his groin. Either he'll evade it or feel enough pain to distract him long enough. Mizu's quick to learn other people's moves, not that kicking a man in the groin has remained miraculously undiscovered until this date, and uses the chance to each over herself to grab whatever she can grab—jacket, ear, hair, it doesn't matter—and moves into a roll aimed to take him with her, death grip on her arm and all. She can use him as cushioning to land, should it go well, and in so doing perhaps loosen that grip a little bit. Whether she accomplishes it or not, she adjusts her position based off his, to accommodate and bring it with her.
Sometimes Mizu thinks she might need to stuff an explosive in his neck to kill him, but no that probably wouldn't do the trick either.
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The weight of them both going down to the floor so abruptly causes a few things around Vergil's apartment to rattle slightly. But nothing falls from its place. Not yet, in any case. It's not as though the pair of them are simply still after their fall. Mizu starts to adjust his position atop Vergil.
Last time Vergil found himself on his back beneath Mizu, it had been a surprise. There had been no real time to think as they went from swordplay to grappling in an instant, and Mizu became more immediately erratic. But this time, he's a little more prepared. Still hard any time to think, but prepared to find himself in this position. He still has a firm hold on Mizu's wrist between them even if the angle is a touch more awkward now. It gives him a leverage point, however, and he pushes up on Mizu to sidle out from beneath him and attempt to flip Mizu over onto his stomach. Regardless of whether or not that's how Mizu ends up on the floor, they're soon a tangle of limbs as Vergil looks to pin Mizu to the floor and Mizu undoubtedly fights back. But it's here where Vergil's size and weight become much more of a problem rather than when they were standing and exchanging strikes. Vergil isn't shy about pressing himself into Mizu to start wresting control over their position over further and further into his control, and he doesn't intend on relenting until he has a firm hold on Mizu regardless of whatever tactics the other intends to use.
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Even so, Mizu never simply gives in, not easily, same as she does not fight as dirty as she would were she honestly fighting for her life. It isn't even the most she's been crushed, Vergil not weighing more than a door with many men atop it crushing her into the ground. Only when Mizu cannot move in any meaningful way does she let out a huff.
"I get it. You have an advantage on the floor."
He's more challenging than her opponents in the past, Mizu already knew that, and she exercised some restraint as well. Some might call it civility, but she's rarely had reason to use it. Vergil... may be the first. Mizu isn't used to it at any rate, nor of grappling with someone better at it than she is. Yet another failing and flawed approach on her part. Vergil is aggravating but not because he's an ass. He's been anything but. The faults lie with her, and Vergil's showcased that unpleasantly well.
The trouble is she doesn't know what kind of fighters her remaining two possible fathers are. Fowler was large and strong and experienced. Vicious. Yet he called himself one of the less terrifying of the men she seeks. An easier target.
"I want to go again."
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"I'm sure you do." Vergil says as he sits back to give Mizu the space to sit up himself, bringing one of his knees closer and resting his elbow on it and holding that wrist loosely with his opposite hand. If it wasn't for how heavily Mizu is breathing now and even Vergil showing a slight amount of being winded after how much Mizu tried to free himself, anyone looking at them would likely think they just made the odd decision to sit in the middle of Vergil's floor to converse. "But I think that's enough for now. Exhaust yourself too much and you'll end up straying from what technique you've started to develop out of frustration. Better that you maintain your discipline than push beyond your limits today."
Vergil considers it for a moment before he looks away and pushes himself back up to his feet.
"You did well."
It might not have been enough to beat Vergil. His technique, size, and strength all were strong factors in the outcome of their sparring today, and he wouldn't downplay that. But neither would it do well to downplay how much growth Mizu demonstrated in a singular sparring in hand-to-hand. He was adaptive and thoughtful about each of his approaches even if they didn't turn out the results he would have liked. He began with his foundations as a swordsman, but he didn't allow that to limit him. Instead, even as much as it might have frustrated and pissed him off in the moment, he took Vergil's feedback both in his physical actions and words, and did something with it.
So, he didn't win and he might have the right to be dissatisfied with that, but victory was hardly the sole metric to be found here today.
He thinks to offer a hand to Mizu to help him to his feet, but opts instead to begin undoing the wrappings around his hands instead and let Mizu get to his feet on his own.
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To be fair, she didn't expect any form of sparring when she stopped by today, and she wasn't injured. They'll spar again soon. Mizu's come out ahead.
"I'll do better," Mizu promises as she stands, still light on her feet. Her energy has only increased from this exercise. She'll practice the moves on her own time in her own space, both hers and some of the ones she saw him use. If it weren't for Vergil, Mizu would spend practically no time injured at all in Folkmore (so far), and that would be a far stranger feeling.
So she undoes the wraps, mindful of Vergil though there's no more promise of sparring. His apartment hardly competes for her attention, sparse as it is.
"Why are you so good at hand to hand combat?" The question betrays her bias. He's a strong swordsman, and he has all that devil stuff, of which Mizu's certain she hasn't seen the half of. With all that, how did he also become so good at this form of combat? Why did he bother? How is he so damn good at all of it? Necessity, she knows, must be part of the answer, but it's hard to fathom him having a difficult time with... most combat.
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"When one has as obnoxious of a little brother as I do, you learn at quite an early age how to beat the hell out of someone with your fists alone," Vergil says, the answer coming perhaps more naturally and smoothly than anything he's ever said to Mizu. But there's a pause as he's unwrapping one of his hands that he realizes he's never made mention of his brother until now. It's not been anything that he's intentionally hidden necessarily, but Dante has never come up in conversation before now. And why should he? Vergil may (sometimes begrudgingly) miss him, but that's not exactly business for anyone else to know. And no one would exactly think to ask him if he has any siblings anyway. He finishes with unwrapping his hand and begins to roll the wrappings together, seemingly quite focused on the task for a moment. "You would think there might be more peace between twins since our age difference isn't in years, but Dante has a way of always causing a ruckus wherever he goes and he was often close behind me as children."
And as adults, too. Just never close enough because Vergil never allowed it. He swallows back that regret and replaces the wrappings back to their appropriate spot within his training area. Vergil opts to brush past the revelation of a twin brother and anything that might come with it to provide the other half of the answer to Mizu's question.
"There isn't a weapon I cannot master, however. It is something I inherited from my father," he continues as he steps over to the portion of his studio apartment that serves as his sleeping area once more. This time, he collects the amulet from the nightstand, unclasping the golden chain to put it back on. No doubt the thing doesn't look like something Vergil would ever choose for himself, both stone and chain being far warmer than his usual cool tones with red and gold. "As it so happens, I acquired a devil arm for a time that enhanced my hand-to-hand while it was still in my possession, and I do what I can to maintain those skills without it."
Vergil steps over to his wardrobe for a shirt and pulls it on. He doesn't put the necklace above the shirt, keeping it tucked away.
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There is more to Vergil and his twin Dante. Mizu has little context as to what, knowing only the few words Vergil says here about his brother. However, all that is overshadowed by what Vergil says next. Mizu straightens and stares at Vergil hard. The wraps in her hand are forgotten next to some inherited ability to master weapons, compared to whatever a devil arm is improving his hand-to-hand skills, so that he only has to maintain those abilities, not master them in the first place.
"You cheat," Mizu declares, half-shocked half-irritated all to hell. As though Vergil doesn't have enough advantages over her, but he doesn't have to try anywhere near as hard as a normal person, as Mizu, to learn the skills in the first place? Yes, the urge to barrel into him and grapple yet again is there, but Mizu knows that will not (likely) end well for her. Vergil already said they were done, and he's dressed again in an unusual amulet and shirt, all committed to that fact.
That's not fair, Mizu doesn't say. It only increases her desire to beat him, to knock him unconscious by learning to get better the hard way, the long way. Though it is frustrating how much that gets slowed down by being injured. She's always dealt with injuries, but it slows things down. Mizu only has so much time in Folkmore. The thought of leaving without defeating Vergil burns something within her. She will manage it through her own blood and sweat and effort. She rolls the wrappings together messily as that gains far more of her attention. No that isn't how he started, with a brother, but it's part of how he's gotten to where he is now.
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His mother wouldn't have died that day. He wouldn't have lost Dante and struggled to accept him again. He wouldn't have been absent for the entirety of Nero's life. He wouldn't have spent a decade as a slave to his father's enemy and his mother's murderer, and a little over a decade more in the demon realm with his crumbling flesh. He wouldn't have been forced and reduced to so little that he was a mere shell of himself or sometimes, at best, just barely surviving. There would have never been any struggle even once in his life if it were all down to that because why would such privilege allow for anything like that to happen? He would never have been so weak as to lose anyone that he loved, to have himself rent from him so violently, or to have known that bitter taste of defeat after defeat.
But even within the reality that his birth was not enough to prevent the violence and pain that's made up the fabric of Vergil's life: he would not have survived any of it if it was solely down to that alone. That much is certain. It was not his birth that caused Vergil to survive. It was him. His motivation and will to not just live but never to know weakness or helplessness, as he had before, developed his skills beyond mere technical ability, and into something that made him a formidable opponent to all that would oppose him. How else could he have pressed forward as he felt his life fading from his body, hardly able to walk or stand upright any longer?
Mizu knows little of any of it, of course. He's only been told of the helplessness that Vergil felt the day his mother died, and what a driving force that had been for him the rest of his life. And he's now seen firsthand what Vergil can do with and without a blade in his hands, the way he can read and respond to the flow of battle as naturally as he is able to draw breath. But what little Mizu knows doesn't matter to Vergil in the moment as he feels the dismissal of all that he is being boiled down to luck and something more akin to a cheap trick or tactic with just two words.
Vergil firmly slides his wardrobe door shut once more. He stands there a moment, his jaw tensing slightly and relaxing once more before he decides against it. He's learned to walk with his nightmares and his failures, accept them as part of himself. But he's far from comfortable with the notion of acknowledging them to someone else. Not even in his own defense. He simply shouldn't have to defend himself. His own merit and skill and continued existence should speak for itself.
It also shouldn't bother him that Mizu's opinion of his skills may be undermined by his nature as a half-devil. What's the opinion of a human who hardly knows anything about him? All the more reason not to defend himself against what feels an accusation. But it does. Bother him. There's no reason why Vergil should even bother sparring with someone like Mizu. What difference does it make to him if he has the skills enough to survive his quest for revenge? He owes Mizu absolutely nothing, and a human arguably has no business crossing blades with someone like Vergil. But Vergil has taken that time. He's found reward in it. He's found someone that he...respects. That he admires the drive and determination of, and the strength there is to be found in refusing to give up simply because the odds are stacked against him.
And that same person says that he cheats to have his skill.
Vergil wants it to not matter. To reduce Mizu down to what he is as he just did to Vergil. But it matters and he can't bring himself to truly do the same.
"If you wish to think of it that way, so be it."
Any semblance of the ease to which he spoke of Dante or offered his explanation has evaporated, but he doesn't sound angry or terse. He's noticeably withdrawing, not lashing out. So, Vergil is merely to the point and concise, firmly declaring that it doesn't matter as he rejoins Mizu. He nods to the wrappings messily rolled in Mizu's hands.
"Keep them. For your own practice or however else you see fit to use them."
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Instead Mizu moves to gather her things. She glances down at the wraps, unused to protecting herself during practice but acknowledging it's likely for the best. Mizu stands there awkwardly, as though she doesn't belong and shouldn't be there, even as Vergil continues to talk evenly and calmly. It's not the kind of situation where Mizu leans on manners, not after being that rude. So she nods, muttering "okay," and adds them to the set of tools Vergil gave her. That itself makes her feel further uncomfortable. He didn't have to do that. Mizu didn't expect it. Honestly, he doesn't entirely make sense to her. It's so much easier when they're sparring than the bits of conversation. Mizu admits she might be escalating this moment, but it rings true to other moments, so she isn't certain.
"It's only a couple days," more like three but Mizu always underestimates it, "until I'm completely healed. Only a couple after that before I've remade what I need for the naginata."
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The other swordsman provides his proposed timeline and Vergil considers it. Or more accurately, his gaze drops to Mizu's side that took the brunt of Vergil's attack. Without laying eyes on the wound itself, there's no telling if Mizu's estimate is accurate. And that's assuming Vergil even has a decent enough sense of how long a wound like that would take to heal on a human without any sort of acceleration which he frankly doubts he possesses. But it seems a fair estimation to Vergil all the same. His movements today didn't seem particularly inhibited by his wound.
"Four days then," Vergil says, lifting his eyes to meet Mizu's again with a slight nod. "Whether you're ready for me or not, I'll find you again."
And if he's not ready, then that's on Mizu to figure out and entirely his fault for putting himself in that position. Vergil doesn't think Mizu would inherently disagree with that either. He probably wouldn't have even argued with Vergil about sparring again if Vergil hadn't been so adamant that he wanted Mizu completely healed first. With Mizu seemingly intent on leaving, Vergil walks to the door to politely open it for him.
"And as far as keeping score is concerned, today doesn't count." It was a training session. Not a real contest. A chance for Vergil to practice and for Mizu to learn. "Next time I see you, I won't hold back as much as I did today. And I won't relent until I've claimed my victory."
He won't allow his skills to be called into question again by the end of it.
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It's a promise that they will carry on, and that proving true, for next time and the time after that, is far more important than anything else. Mizu will not have the chance to improve enough to beat him unless they keep going. Her step is a little lighter at his words. It's what she wants.
"We'll see about that," Mizu says. As much as she knows how it will likely go, she refuses to accept defeat before it comes. That only guarantees it. "I'll be ready."
And that's that. Almost none of their interaction what she expected that day, some better, some worse. She leaves for Wintermute where the chill will center her. Mizu can always think better there.