Yama crossed her arms impatiently, her gaze fixed on the battlefield as her fingers drummed against her elbow, betraying the growing irritation she didn't even try to hide.
The scene before her should have been grand, worthy of attention, but what she saw was merely a frustrating spectacle: Angelo being repeatedly destroyed by Vergil as if he were a training dummy, incapable of offering any real challenge. Each cut was clean, each movement of Vergil was precise, and the result was always the same—limbs flying, body torn apart, head separated… and, seconds later, everything reorganizing itself as if nothing had happened.
"This is pathetic." Yama clicked her tongue, turning her face away in disdain. "Seriously, Dante, is this the 'executioner' you were saving as a trump card? He's nothing but a regenerative punching bag. He can't even touch his target."
