My Wives are Beautiful Demons

The moment Vergil finished making the final adjustments to the chaotic vortex of his soul—now calmer after the total domination of Crymsaria and Nivara—he felt the world around him change. The scent of earth and flowers dissipated like smoke, and reality reframed itself. The field of lilies vanished, and he awoke once more in the room where his body lay, breathing heavily and his countenance still somber.

With heavy footsteps, he descended the stairs.

Silence.

No breeze, no ordinary noise. The mansion's lobby was filled with powerful presences — all female, all looking at him with closed, tense, even indignant expressions.

Sapphire was the first to look up. Her sky-blue eyes held no tenderness at that moment, only concern. Sepphirothy kept her arms crossed, her tail swaying with contained irritation. Behind them, the others waited in complete silence: Raphaeline, with her wings tucked in and dark eyes; Stella, her hands clasped in front of her chest as if praying for something that still didn't make sense; Ada, Roxanne, Katharina — even Viviane, always distant, was there, watching silently.

Vergil stopped in front of them.

"...What happened?" His voice came out hoarse, deep, as if still echoing with the fury of minutes ago. "Can someone explain this fucking atmosphere to me?"

Sapphire was direct.

"Runeas Gremory... was seriously injured during Walpurgis."

The silence that followed seemed to cut the air into thin blades.

"...How serious?" Vergil asked after a few seconds, his voice firm but tense.

Stella stepped forward. Her voice was low, melancholic: "She is... between life and death."

Vergil blinked. The eyes that had faced goddesses now looked vulnerable.

"...Was it because of the theft of the Orb?" he asked, his eyes narrowing in frustration. "Or was it the direct blows she took?"

Sapphire hesitated, but answered. "Both, perhaps. But... it seems her bond with the Orb was deeper than we imagined. She... was connected to the artifact. And when the Scarlet Empress was freed, she lost not only power, but vitality. As if part of her essence had been forcibly torn away."

Vergil clenched his fists. "Damn..."

He was about to say something else, perhaps protest or demand answers, but a purple magic circle appeared in the middle of the room, spinning like a vortex of darkness and ancient wisdom. Infernal symbols revealed themselves among the runes, and in a silent explosion of violet light, three figures appeared out of nowhere.

Amon, the tallest and coldest, with his blackened armor and ebony horns.

Astaroth, wrapped in black robes with eyes of infinite emptiness.

Paimon, she was elegant as always, but with a stern expression and looking very tired.

The three entities stared at him intently.

"Vergil," said Amon, his voice deep as a war drum. "Come with us. Now."

Immediately, Katharina stepped forward, the demonic energy around her rising like a flaming wall.

"What do you want with my husband?" she growled.

Paimon calmly raised a hand and placed it on her hip, exposing her body to Vergil, trying to provoke him. "Move out of the way, cutie, the Power of the Death Knight... is necessary to save Runeas' life."

Vergil frowned. "Save... what do you mean?"

Astaroth, with his almost inhuman tone, replied:

"We have captured the culprit. The one who orchestrated the attack. And we need you to identify him."

"And?" Vergil crossed his arms. "You didn't need me for that. You know how to use arcane detectors, soul reading, psychic interrogators—"

"Vergil," Amon interrupted. "You were connected to the demon named Dante. Just come and confirm that it's really him. Our systems don't have any data on his face."

The silence that fell now was different. Heavy. Amon's eyes were fixed, piercing. "And you have a lot to explain about what happened in that place."

...

The crystal room in the basement of the City of Thirteen Circles was cold, damp, and built with living magic. Ancient runes glowed red around the center, where a containment sphere spun, imprisoning the prisoner as if it were a miniature spinning planet.

Vergil arrived with Amon and the others, followed by Sapphire and Sepphirothy. None of them wanted to wait. And he didn't stop them.

"I sealed him in there to prevent him from escaping or someone releasing him," Amon commented.

The creature trapped inside the orb... was a man.

Young, thin, with grayish skin. His eyes, however, were completely black—no irises, no pupils. He smiled, even with his lips broken and his face marked by obvious torture.

"This isn't Dante. Is this the bastard who attacked Runeas?" Vergil asked dryly.

Astaroth nodded. "He... was manipulated. But he used the Empress's Orb to channel the seal of liberation. He took it to a place far from the city where they attempted a Ritual, but Amon killed everyone and took the Orb, even though the woman blew up the seal afterwards and flew off to where you were."

Vergil approached slowly, his eyes glowing red.

The man looked at him and... smiled more.

"So you're the one who destroyed the whole plan again," he said, in a voice that didn't match his body — multiple voices, male and female, whispering at the same time.

"Ah... what a pain," Vergil replied. "And you're the shit who thinks he's invincible, just let this body die and go away."

"If I were you... I'd be careful about what you've been doing... your wives won't like being hunted... Fifth Demon King."

The phrase was enough.

In less than a second, Vergil's aura exploded, everything shook. The prisoner began to scream—not from physical pain, but because something inside him was being torn out.

"What are you doing?" Paimon shouted.

"Separating the voices," Vergil replied, his eyes empty. "He was used as a conduit. An avatar. But there are still echoes of the entity that possessed him. And I'm going to track down those echoes."

Fragments began to break away from the man's body — like black specters, screaming and trying to escape. Vergil reached out, and a black scythe appeared out of nowhere, forged from shadows and compressed souls.

It was something he had gained when he became the Knight of Death, but had never used.

He slashed the air toward the demon's body. This content is presented by M4VLEMPYR.

The remnants pulled back as if time had been reversed, and a larger image appeared on the enchanted walls of the room: a flaming, gigantic, ancient eye, embedded among the stars of a dead plane.

Astaroth's eyes widened. "...That's... Very strange."

Sapphire analyzed it but... "I have no idea what this thing is."

Vergil did not look away. "Even trying to trace the origin of the death that was cast on him led me nowhere."

He then turned his gaze to the three infernal lords. "Do you know this thing?"

Amon hesitated for a moment—long enough for Vergil to understand that the answer would be something dangerous.

"So you know it. I hope it's something less problematic than two Celestial Dragons." Vergil smiled slightly, but without humor. "Well, whatever. That's your problem."

Completely ignoring this event, Paimon took a step forward. "Hail Runeas. Use your connection with death. She is on the threshold. She can still be pulled back."

Vergil closed his eyes for a moment. He took a deep breath.

"...Take me to her."

The chamber where Runeas lay was bathed in purple and silver light. The young witch's body was wrapped in layers of crystals to preserve what remained of her soul. But her skin was pale, and her breathing was almost imperceptible.

Vergil knelt beside her.

He said nothing for a few seconds. He just watched. Then he placed a hand on her chest.

"This is going to hurt like hell." He closed his eyes and summoned the void. The Essence of Death was not a force of destruction... but of closure, of transition. And he used it as a bridge. His aura expanded, covering Runeas like a blanket.

"Wake up," Vergil murmured.

At first, nothing.

The room remained silent, the crystals pulsing softly as if holding the last echo of Runeas' life trapped between planes. But then—a faint purple light began to shine in the center of the girl's chest. A fragment of the Dragon Empress' Orb—even destroyed—still resisted, pulsing with a stubborn spark of draconic energy.

Something inside her was still fighting.

Vergil smiled slightly. Just the corner of his lip.

"You're stubborn, aren't you? Of course you weren't going to die so easily."

His aura intensified. The energy of Death merged with that of life, creating a tenuous bridge between the worlds.

Runeas gasped suddenly.

A faint, guttural sound, like the first breath after drowning.

And then — cough, cough! — she began to cough violently.

A thick black liquid dripped from her lips, looking more like a mixture of poison, arcane corruption, and physical pain. The ground where it dripped boiled gently, releasing purple vapors.

Vergil just watched, expressionless.

Paimon, standing beside him, brought her hand to her mouth, tense. When Runeas stopped coughing, gasping, weak and pale, Vergil approached and spoke bluntly:

"Runeas, I'm sorry... but your dragon is fucked."

Her eyes widened.

"You survived, which is already a miracle," he continued, relentless. "But the power of the Scarlet Empress? Forget it. It turned to ash the moment they ripped out the Orb. You're alive, but you'll have to walk on your own two feet now."

Runeas tried to speak, but could only manage a weak moan, as if she were still digesting the avalanche of information and pain.

Vergil shrugged. "Ah, it must have been horrible. I know. But you'll regenerate. Slowly... but you will."

He then looked at Paimon with a dry expression. "Curse of Death."

The woman's eyes narrowed for a second. Then she let out a small sigh and smiled, that slightly affected smile that carried more charm than compassion.

"Now it all makes sense..." she said, delicately adjusting her dress. "That's why she was slowly fading away. Death didn't want to take her at once, it was waiting... for the link with the Empress to be completely destroyed."

Vergil nodded once. "A slow process. Almost poetic."

Paimon stared at him with an arched eyebrow, her eyes shining with that uncomfortable mixture of admiration and desire.

"You're more efficient than the three archons combined..." she murmured, taking a step forward.

Vergil looked sideways, suspicious.

"So..." she leaned slightly, her hair flowing over one shoulder like silk "...do you have a little time now? Or are you already going to save another almost-doomed soul?"