Arthur didn't technically ask him to be here, and Nero predictably doesn't really want to be, but for whatever reason the devil hunter has decided keeping this spindly weirdo alive is his personal responsibility. To the point he's been dropping by, giving him a few coins to keep himself fed. Making sure there's no dandelion petals sticking out between his teeth.

And now he's here, hoping this place that looks a little too close to what he's heard of about hell isn't as bad as it looks, and alternatively has a little more action than... weird birds, following them as they walk the path.

"Not exactly William Blake, is it?" Nero responds, like he knows fuck-all about William Blake outside of the book Vergil literally threw at him. He's read through it several times, enough so that a copy of it lingers in the Horizon on the dash of his van. Reading it like he could derive any sort of understanding about the person Vergil is, or the person V was, or any of that shit --

His hackles raise as a voice caws around them. It's human, but off, distinctly off.

Nero's hand raises to the hilt of his sword. "Tell me you heard whatever the hell that was." The last thing he needs is to be the only one hearing shit. He hates how this entire world fucks with him.