Wash It Away.
Vergil gently placed his katana down in its worthy place of his azure bedroom. Sighing, he gently rubbed his neck; he'd been out practicing his skills on demons and such. A slip up in a fight had left a thin cut along his neck. It was hardly noticeable, but there was still blood dripping from it.
He strode into the bathroom, pulling out a first aid kit from a mirrored cabinet. Taking it back to his room, he removed his cerulean trench coat, revealing his muscular, powerful arms. He then removed his vest top; it was sticking to his ivory skin because of the small stream of blood. His god-like body, one that men envied and women wanted, was on full display. Vergil's body was completely flawless. You couldn't fault it; not one millimetre.
He dabbed the gash with cotton and an antibacterial substance, cautious of each wipe. He decided to not put on a plaster; he disliked them, and it would look highly unattractive; it could lose him money at his job.
He discharged his boots and socks, soon