My Wives are Beautiful Demons

The presence in Vergil's body took a deep breath—or at least pretended to. The air around him rippled, as if the simple gesture had caused time itself to consider continuing to flow.

The little girl was still standing before him, paralyzed, but her eyes burned with a strange spark of indignation and duty. Her childlike appearance was a thin veil — something the being inside Vergil perceived with uncomfortable clarity. This was not a child. It was a function. A cosmic protocol. An automated punishment in the form of something that had once been human.

But even so... she was small.

The entity spoke in a voice that was not Vergil's—it was something older, more cavernous, full of layers of resonance that echoed inward, as if the sound were traveling back in time even before it was emitted.

"Infinite Scourge." The girl trembled slightly.

Not because she was afraid, but because that name was not meant to be known. It was his oldest title, used only by the weavers of the Original Creation, those who had already been forgotten by all living planes. She did not respond. But something in her eyes darkened.

"I could undo you right now. Tear your sequence apart and leave you in a state of eternal thought, without time, without beginning. But I won't."

He approached slowly. Each step left marks on the floor that seemed to burn the foundations of reality, like footprints on glass molded by concepts.

"You are necessary. A walking warning. A limit." He tilted his head slightly. "But now... I let you go."

The girl took a step forward, her eyes narrowing like blades of obsidian.

"I can't go." Her voice sounded like the creaking of a cosmic door opening. "Not yet. As long as those two—" She pointed at Crimsarya and Nivara, frozen like sparks of chaos and silence. "—are not sealed, this sector of True Yggdrasil will remain threatened. They are tearing apart an ancient branch with their presence. If they are released, they will destroy an entire vector of existence."

The entity in Vergil's body showed no emotion. It just looked at the two goddesses suspended in the moment before the final impact, when time and causality had already broken. They looked small now. Two embers floating in a frozen tapestry.

"You see too many threats," he said, almost with a tone of pity. "Your eyes have been trained to see cracks. You were never taught to see structure."

"You don't understand. Neither do I," she said, clenching her fists. "They are no longer just entities, they are absolute extremes. I need to intervene. It's not a choice. It's an obligation—a law."

The entity laughed. It was a small, short laugh—but in it was the weight of supernovas collapsing into black holes.

"You're a child. Just like those two angry baby dragons." My Virtual Library Empire (M V L E M P Y R) appreciates your readership at the source.

The girl froze. For a second, that was all. One second.

But then she lunged forward. Her hand rose—her fingers forming an ancient, dangerous seal, a code that should not be spoken, a language of the end times. She was going to attack him. Not like someone angry. But like a knife without a blade cutting through the concept of resistance.

But her hand did not move.

Neither did her body.

Nor her soul.

It was as if something invisible, inevitable, had trapped her at the core of her existence. The fibers that made her up were twisted, anchored by forces that predated reality.

"No." The entity said, looking into her eyes.

The Infinite Scourge widened his eyes—his chin trembling slightly for the first time.

He approached. Vergil's face—or what was once Vergil's face—was now illuminated by a light impossible to classify. Neither dark nor bright. Something... beyond.

"This boy has his own problems. I understand your analogy of using his body to seal. Indeed, his mind is limited, but his soul... resilient. He doesn't break easily. Congratulations on choosing him."

He smiled — and the universe receded an inch.

"But I won't do it the way you wanted."

With a gesture, he raised his hand—and pointed to the two empresses frozen in time. Crimsarya and Nivara. And then... their bodies began to fall apart. But not in destruction. In refinement. In pure essence.

They turned into sparks. Small stars. Nuclei of concentrated power.

Two points of singularity.

And he... swallowed them.

Just like that.

With a single gesture, the two absolute empresses, who had almost destroyed entire sectors of the multiverse with their fury, were swallowed by the entity inside Vergil as if they were just breaths — heat and cold dissolved in a pit deeper than any hell.

The girl tried to scream, but even her voice failed her.

He turned to her.

"Go to Infinity." His voice reverberated like a sentence.

And then... with a simple gesture, he touched her with the palm of his hand.

The touch was silent. But the effect was overwhelming.

The girl's body was thrown into the shattered skies of the underworld, like a leaf in the wind of a reverse apocalypse. But as she rose, space was restored. The sky recomposed itself. As if going back in time — as if it had never been broken.

The underworld healed its own cracks. The battlefield reorganized itself, fragment by fragment.

And when the girl disappeared high above, her name was forgotten. Her function, suspended.

He — the being inside Vergil — remained there.

Calm.

Silent.

Then he bent down and picked up the two weapons that had fallen to the ground after the sealing: Supernova, the double blade that still glowed with the combustion of a dying sun. And Ice Age, the thin spear, silent as a sigh of thermal death.

He looked at both of them.

"Beautiful," he said, with regret. And then... he swallowed them both.

The blade of extinction and the spear of annulment. As if they were part of a whole returning home. No resistance. No crash. Just silence.

He took another deep breath.

All around, everything was still. Time frozen. Light suspended.

And then he spoke.

"One step at a time." His voice was no longer stormy. It was serene. Like someone tired. "I sacrificed a billion years to make this small effort..."

The words fell like stars that extinguish themselves in space.

Deep within his being—not Vergil's, but that which now used Vergil as a vessel—there was a painful memory. Something sealed long ago in a prison he had built for himself. An ancient pact. A renunciation.

But now... he was back. Still weak. Still bearing wounds from forgotten ages.

But present.

And above all... vigilant.

He looked at the horizon, where time still hesitated to return.

"Keep sleeping, little dragons. Your day has not yet come." And with a snap of his fingers... time returned.

Light moved.

Wind blew.

Birds, crows, debris... everything resumed its course.

But the battle was over.

The combatants were silent, fallen, protected... or completely unaware of what had just happened.

Only Vergil remained standing, and for a few seconds

Time had finally started running again.

The air was still heavy, as if the world were breathing with difficulty after the absurd compression of primordial forces. But the battle had ceased. Not because of victory. Not because of escape.

It had simply... ceased.

The figures of the two empresses—Crimsarya and Nivara—had disappeared. Not destroyed. Not banished. Just... gone. As if they had never been there, as if their names had been erased from every layer of space-time.

Sepphirothy opened her eyes, still breathing unevenly. The field of destruction around her, once fragmented into overlapping realities, was... clean. Quiet.

She rose slowly from the rubble of a fallen temporal palace. Sapphire, at her side, was still unconscious, protected by an instinctive dome of energy conjured by sheer desperation.

Then Sepphirothy looked toward the horizon.

Vergil.

He was there. Standing. Far away. In the center of a circle of vitrified ground, where the impact of his transcendental presence still haunted the space.

Sepphirothy frowned.

"...Vergil?" she murmured, not understanding.

He didn't move. He didn't breathe visibly. He just... stood there. Like a living statue. Or a silent lighthouse on a frozen sea.

She ran.

Each step was a cry against fatigue. Her muscles begged for rest, but her heart beat with an urgency that could not be ignored.

The silver-haired woman stopped a few steps away from him.

The silence around them was so thick that it seemed to absorb the sound of the wind.

"What are you doing?" she asked, hesitantly.

Vergil did not answer.

His eyes were open, but empty. As if he were looking at a place far, far away. Far beyond that plane. Beyond any plane.

She approached slowly, as if afraid to break him with a touch.

"Vergil...?" she repeated, softer, more concerned.

And then she touched him.

It was instantaneous.

His body collapsed like a sandcastle hit by a sudden tide. His knees buckled. The stiffness was gone. And Vergil... fell.

Sepphirothy caught him in her arms before he hit the ground, his body exuding an abnormal heat, as if his soul were still burning from the inside out.

He fell unconscious in her arms, his head lolling to the side, his body limp, exhausted beyond comprehension. But alive.

Sepphirothy gasped, kneeling with him against her chest, her gaze confused, distressed, searching his face for any trace of the man she knew.

"Hey... hey! Vergil! Talk to me!" She shook him gently, but there was no response.

He wasn't dead. But he had gone so far—so deep—that even his soul seemed reluctant to return to his body.

"What happened to you...?" she whispered, touching his forehead.