My Wives are Beautiful Demons

[A Few Weeks Ago – Baal Clan Sealing Chambers]

The silence was absolute.

Deep within Baal Castle, where even natural light dared not venture, Raphaeline had isolated herself—voluntarily. The containment vault had been sealed with three layers of arcane barriers and an ancient sealing rune. No one could enter. No one was supposed to leave.

In the center of the chamber, she stood with her eyes closed. The air around her vibrated with heat. Beads of sweat trickled slowly down her neck, evaporating before they even touched the floor.

"Let's begin," she murmured, the sound of her own voice swallowed by the pressure of the environment.

She took a deep breath. Her heartbeat quickened like a war drum.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

The blood inside her veins responded, as if every cell had been called to action.

It was Vergil's technique—Accelerated Blood Circulation. A method of extreme physical enhancement that forced blood flow to operate above its limit, feeding muscles, tendons, and bones with almost explosive energy.

With each passing second, her body burned like a living furnace.

Her muscles became denser. Her reflexes sharper. Her skin more resistant. She could destroy a wall with a single punch, run like a blur, resist blades as if they were wind. It was a state of temporary physical supremacy.

But...

She had already mastered it.

In just four days inside that hell of stone and magic, Raphaeline had reached the pinnacle of the technique. Every step of the flow, every micro-adjustment in the speed of her blood, every transition between phases—everything was under her absolute control.

And she was not satisfied.

"This is not enough," she said, opening her eyes. There was impatience in her gaze. Contempt for limits. Anger at mediocrity.

The technique offered her temporary strength. But the body eventually gave way. It broke. It was an intense but brief flame.

She wanted more.

She wanted permanence.

That's when she had the idea.

"What if the blood... didn't just circulate?" she thought. "What if it evolved with me?"

Contrary to what was expected of a warrior in training, Raphaeline did not move with bursts of energy. She remained motionless, focused, immersed in deep introspection. The battle was now internal—against her own biological limits, against the static nature of blood.

She sat on the floor, crossing her legs, and began to direct her perception inward. She felt the blood flow in her fingers, her feet, her tongue. Each heartbeat became a command. Each vein, a living road.

Vergil's technique was functional, yes. But it was also primitive — it forced the body to respond. She wanted the opposite: for the body and blood to respond before the need arose. To proactively mold themselves, adapting to the environment, the damage, the enemy.

"Blood is life. It is magic. It is information," she thought, activating monitoring runes engraved under her skin with concentrated blood. The magic circles reacted to every change in her heart rate, recording pulses, temperature, and arcane density.

She began to test minimal variations in circulation.

She accelerated the flow only in her right arm. Then only in her legs. Then in her eyes. She discovered that by adjusting the local heat, she could temporarily crystallize red blood cells and convert them into small vectors of magical defense. Shields of condensed blood.

A week later, she was already able to manipulate blood outside the body with surgical precision. Cuts she made on herself were closed by microtentacles of enchanted hemoglobin. More than regenerating, the blood obeyed. She had shaped the technique.

But still, that was external manipulation.

She wanted internal mutation.

That was when she began the most dangerous process: infusing her soul into her blood cells. A ritual of symbiosis, forbidden in the most orthodox circles of blood magic. The consequences? Countless. Rejection? Almost guaranteed. But she persisted.

For days, she was caught between feverish states, delirium, and cellular collapse.

Her veins throbbed like ropes about to snap. Her nose bled incessantly. Her body tried to destroy itself to prevent the change. But she remained focused. Every time she woke up from fainting, she continued the ritual.

Until, finally... the blood stopped fighting.

It accepted.

The cells, one by one, began to integrate parts of her spiritual energy, becoming living fragments of Raphaeline's essence. This meant that with each new cycle of circulation, the blood learned, memorized traumas, analyzed injuries, anticipated movements.

The blood became a secondary consciousness.

From then on, the technique ceased to be merely a physical improvement. She had created a subform of existence, a state in which the blood acted as a network of defense, attack, and autonomous regeneration.

She tested it. She simulated deep cuts on herself. The blood hardened under her skin before the blade touched it. She projected fists of condensed blood, like claws forming in midair. Her arteries began to glow with an incandescent crimson light. Her heart seemed to pump will, not just liquid.

"It's no longer a technique..." she murmured as she stood up in the center of the chamber, the chains of the sealing vault beginning to shake with magical pressure. "...it's an extension of my soul."

The air grew denser. The magic sensors scattered throughout the chamber began to fail, the monitoring crystals crackling like glass under fire.

From that moment on, Raphaeline no longer needed to activate the technique.

She was the technique.

[Present day.]

But something began to change.

The silence that filled the chamber was broken by a grotesque, almost inaudible sound—as if reality itself were being compressed into a drop.

Raphaeline, still standing in the center of the vault, slowly opened her eyes. They shone, no longer with visible irises, but with a liquid crimson glow. For a moment, it was impossible to tell if there was still humanity there... or just raw will.

"No more tests," she murmured. But the sound did not come out as a voice. It echoed like a whisper in the blood. Inside the walls. Inside the very enchanted metal that held her.

The pulse of her body, which had previously vibrated in harmony with the technique, began to accelerate abnormally. The aura she emitted became dense as oil, beginning to physically push the air and crack the floor around her.

Then, without warning...

CRACK.

Red veins appeared in the stones, like arteries spreading throughout the surrounding world. The ancient chains that sealed the vault began to vibrate, trying to resist. But the pressure only increased.

Raphaeline clenched her fists and took one last deep breath.

"Let's see if the soul follows the body... or if it burns in the process," she said, and in that instant, she broke the flow.

It was like releasing a derailed train.

An invisible impact rippled through the air. The floor exploded beneath her feet. The enchanted barriers shook and began to crumble with the sound of cracking glass.

And then... she crumbled.

Raphaeline's body dissolved into a torrent of dark, thick, sparkling blood. There were no bones. No flesh. Only pure blood, maintaining its fluid form with monstrous precision. It floated in the center of the chamber like an organic sphere, pulsating, alive. On its surface, faces and eyes appeared and disappeared—fragments of memories, instincts, recollections.

The magical pressure multiplied tenfold.

The walls began to drip with red sweat, as if the castle itself were trying to imitate this new being pulsing within it. A silent scream echoed through the abandoned corridors, reaching even the depths where the clan had been evacuated.

At the core of the liquid sphere, small beams of light danced, like synapses trying to reorganize consciousness. It was no longer just Raphaeline. It was something beyond, a being between the physical and the arcane.

And then, everything exploded.

KABOOOOOMM!

The chamber was engulfed by a storm of living blood. The sealing runes evaporated. The walls collapsed outward as if made of clay. The vault exploded, spewing fragments of enchanted stone in all directions.

A crimson whirlwind rose from the center of the destruction, spinning slowly, like a tornado made of fury and pure will. And at its heart, the fragments began to reassemble.

From within the vortex, the blood began to recompose itself.

The skull emerged first. Then the shoulders. Muscles stitched together with veins of living magic. The eyes reopened, now with vertical pupils, glowing like molten rubies.

Raphaeline was back—reborn in her purest form.

She fell to her feet among the ruins of the sealing chamber, naked, panting... but smiling. A calm, almost serene smile, but one that hid a growing madness.

"Now yes..." she whispered.

Her body emanated a palpable heat, and the scarlet aura around her was so dense that it rippled like steam. Then, suddenly, she arched her neck back and began to laugh—first softly, then loudly, then completely out of control.

"Hahaha... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! I DID IT!!!" her scream echoed through the bowels of the castle like an explosion. "A DEFINITIVE TECHNIQUE!!!"

Her laughter was so powerful that shockwaves went out in all directions, sweeping through halls, shattering columns, and... knocking out everyone in the Baal Clan. Elite guards, priests, even the elders—all fell where they stood, their minds drowned in the pressure of her presence.

Even the neighboring cities felt the impact. Towers cracked, animals fell silent, the sky above turned a deep red. Hell reacted like a living organism, sensing that something terrible and glorious had been born.

Hey, the faithful maid could barely stand. Trembling, she approached the entrance to the now completely destroyed chamber, her eyes wide at the figure emerging from the crimson mist.

"M-Mistress...?" she stammered, her body almost refusing to acknowledge the presence before her.

Raphaeline turned slowly, her smile now transformed into an expression of divine ecstasy.

"I have achieved... ENLIGHTENMENT!!!" she proclaimed with open arms, eccentrically theatrical.

And then something surreal happened.

From the depths of the shattered vault, hundreds of swords—each forged, enchanted, collected, or conquered by Raphaeline over four hundred years—began to vibrate. One by one, they emerged from the ground, piercing the earth and floating toward her as if they were children running into their mother's arms.

"COME TO ME, MY CHILDREN!" she roared, and they all obeyed.

The blades began to merge around her body, melting into living blood, spinning in elegant spirals, forming runes, liquid armor, symbols forgotten by dead gods.

Each sword dissolved and was absorbed into her scarlet skin as if they recognized their true home.

Ei, kneeling, watched in utter shock.

The woman before her was no longer just a warrior. She was an entity.

"Yes..." Raphaeline murmured to herself, completely ignoring Ei's presence. "A new body. A new technique. An achievement worthy of ages..."

She raised her bright eyes, still smiling.

"Demonic Body of the Scarlet Blood Goddess..." she said, savoring each word.

And then, as if proclaiming a prophecy: "Supreme Technique: Absolute Control of the Blood Goddess."