My Wives are Beautiful Demons

Thor was the first to lose control.

Vergil’s provocation struck more than pride. It struck an entire identity built around Mjölnir, countless ages of victories Thor had always believed were his, but which now seemed divided between him and the weapon he had never truly understood. Seeing the hammer resting comfortably in another man’s hand, responding to his movements, accepting demonic energy, and reacting with enthusiasm to his provocations was enough to turn the God of Thunder’s rage into something crude and disorganized.

Thor advanced without any concern for Asgard.

Divine energy exploded around his body, crushing the plaza, tearing trees from the gardens, and throwing the nearest Einherjar against the walls. He did not try to regain control of the storm. He simply pulled all available electricity into his muscles and attacked Vergil with a direct punch, using enough force to split the entire island beneath them.

Vergil blocked with Mjölnir.

The impact tore the ground from beneath them and sent a wave of destruction through the nearby structures. Golden towers bent, suspended bridges broke apart, and enormous pieces of land fell toward the lower regions of Asgard. Vergil’s arm gave way several centimeters, the bones in his shoulder cracked, and a fissure opened across the skin of his hand, but the Authority of Death immediately traveled through his body, preventing the damage from becoming a real limitation.

Thor was stronger.

That became clear in the first clash.

His divine energy was denser, older, and far more abundant. Asgard’s storm responded to his presence, and every discharge crossing his body carried the authority of a god who had destroyed giants, monsters, and armies long before the birth of almost every human kingdom.

Vergil, in purely divine terms, stood below him.

But the battle would not be decided only by the amount of energy.

The Authority of Death did not need to overpower Thor’s power. It only needed to touch what was alive, interrupt regeneration, corrode resistance, and make every wound harder to ignore. Whenever Vergil landed a strike, an invisible layer remained inside the god’s body, forcing his divine energy to work against something it could not simply expel through brute strength.

The difference slowly disappeared.

Thor attacked again, alternating punches and elbows, every movement surrounded by lightning that destroyed the terrain even when he missed. Vergil avoided the first, blocked the second with Yamato, and took the third in the chest. The blow sent him through two towers and into a distant wall. Stone, gold, and wood exploded around him as his body passed through rooms, corridors, and defensive structures before stopping buried beneath the remains of a hall.

Thor appeared immediately.

He did not wait for the dust to settle.

He descended with both fists joined together, trying to crush Vergil against the ground. Vergil rolled aside at the last instant, and the blow struck the foundation of the building. The entire region sank. A circle several kilometers wide cracked and dropped several meters, destroying gardens, military houses, and part of Asgard’s reserves.

Vergil reappeared behind him and struck the back of the god’s neck with Mjölnir.

Thor was thrown forward, but turned in midair and tried to reach the hammer. His fingers touched the handle for a fraction of a second. Mjölnir released black electricity against his hand, forcing him to retreat.

The reaction only worsened his fury.

"Return to me!" Thor shouted.

Mjölnir vibrated irritably in Vergil’s hand.

Vergil watched the god with growing contempt.

"She is not an animal you call whenever you want."

Thor attacked with a roar.

This time, he abandoned every attempt at defense. The first punch passed beside Vergil’s head, but the pressure opened a deep cut across his face. The second struck his abdomen, caving in the flesh, breaking ribs, and forcing blood from his mouth. Vergil answered by driving Yamato’s point into Thor’s shoulder and twisting the blade before pulling it free.

The Authority of Death entered with the cut.

Thor felt it.

His left arm lost strength for an instant. It did not die, rot, or become useless, but the connection between muscle, energy, and movement suffered a momentary interruption. For a controlled fighter, it would have been a warning. For Thor in that state, it was only another reason to attack with greater force.

He seized Vergil by the neck and slammed him into the ground.

Then again.

And once more.

Each impact opened a larger crater until the region beneath them became an unrecognizable field of ruins. Vergil allowed the third throw to happen, waited for Thor to approach, and kicked the inside of his knee. The joint gave way. Before the god recovered his balance, Mjölnir struck his temple.

Thor fell to the side.

Vergil advanced, but the god turned his body and delivered an upward blow beneath his chin. The force launched him into the sky. Thor jumped after him, reached him among the clouds, and unleashed a sequence of punches that made the air explode in successive circles. Vergil blocked some with Yamato and took the others across his body, allowing the Authority of Death to reinforce the struck areas while his regeneration rebuilt the worst damage.

Even so, the destruction was mutual.

Vergil bled.

Thor did too.

Each carried wounds that would destroy lesser warriors in seconds. The difference was how they dealt with them. Vergil analyzed every strike received, corrected his stance, changed the distance, and turned damage into information.

Thor only became angrier.

The more he missed, the more strength he used.

The more strength he used, the more predictable he became.

Vergil avoided another punch and struck Yamato’s handle against his throat. Thor choked but tried to seize him again. Vergil turned his body, passed beneath the arm, and struck the ribs with Mjölnir. The hammer released a black discharge at the instant of contact, and demonic electricity crossed the god’s chest.

Thor fell from the sky like a meteor.

He struck a distant forest and opened a crater so large that thousands of trees were torn away by the shockwave. Fire spread through the vegetation, but the uncontrolled storm began raining over the same region, producing clouds of steam that covered the horizon.

Vergil descended slowly.

He expected Thor to change.

To recognize his own disadvantage.

To stop chasing Mjölnir and begin fighting like the God of Thunder he claimed to be.

Thor rose among the destroyed trees and immediately looked at the hammer.

Not at Vergil.

At Mjölnir.

That detail was enough.

Thor ran again with his arms open, trying to seize the weapon. Vergil simply leaned aside, let the god pass, and kicked him in the back. Thor fell face-first into the ground and slid hundreds of meters through rocks and burned trunks.

Vergil remained still.

His interest began to disappear.

Thor stood and came again.

Another direct attack.

Another predictable movement.

Another desperate attempt to recover the hammer.

Vergil struck him in the stomach with a knee and, when Thor bent forward, brought Mjölnir against the side of his head. The god fell onto one knee but still extended his hand toward the weapon.

Vergil watched him in silence.

"You truly do not know how to fight without her."

Thor raised his face, his eyes filled with electricity and hatred.

"Shut up."

"That was not a provocation."

Vergil turned Mjölnir one final time and watched the god’s reaction. Thor followed every movement of the hammer, ignoring Yamato, ignoring Vergil’s stance, and completely ignoring the opening he left on his right side.

It was worse than it appeared.

Thor possessed enough strength, speed, resistance, and energy to destroy most of the gods Vergil knew. Even without Mjölnir, he remained a living calamity. But his entire technique had been built around the weapon. His movements began with the hammer’s return. His strikes were prepared to create space for the next throw. His defenses depended on blocking with the metal head, and his storm was controlled by runes Mjölnir activated almost automatically.

Without her, Thor did not know where to place his hands.

He did not know how to protect his own body.

He did not know how to control distance.

He did not know how to wait.

He was a god with enough power to destroy a world, but he had learned to fight only through an extension that had always corrected his flaws for him.

Vergil felt disgust.

Not at weakness.

At waste.

A man had received absurd strength, a living weapon, and countless ages to improve himself, but had allowed Mjölnir to do everything. He had called the weapon a friend without knowing her, used her loyalty as an excuse not to evolve, and mistaken borrowed power for his own ability.

Vergil lowered Yamato.

Thor hesitated.

Then looked at Mjölnir again.

Vergil released the hammer.

The weapon remained floating beside him, surrounded by black and red lightning. Yamato also left his hand and stayed suspended on the other side, held by demonic energy.

Thor frowned.

"What are you doing?"

"I lost the desire to use weapons against you."

Thor’s expression twisted.

Vergil closed his fists.

"Come."

Thor roared and advanced.

The first punch was strong enough to destroy all the terrain behind Vergil, but it did not hit him. Vergil moved aside and struck the god’s face with a short punch. Thor tried to answer, but the Demon King blocked his arm, turned his shoulder, and drove another punch into his ribs.

The third struck the liver.

The fourth broke his nose.

Thor retreated, more confused than injured. He tried to increase his speed, but that only made the problem worse. Without Mjölnir to correct his trajectory, his attacks were wide and easy to read. Vergil moved aside by centimeters, keeping his body close enough to prevent Thor from using the full reach of his strength.

One punch struck the god’s mouth.

Another hit his cheekbone.

Vergil smashed his forehead into Thor’s nose and, before he recovered his balance, seized his beard and pulled his face downward, driving a knee into his mouth.

Teeth and blood flew.

Thor tried to grab him, but Vergil passed beside his arm, trapped his wrist, and struck the joint. The elbow gave way. Thor roared, turning his body to hit him with the free hand, but Vergil stepped inside his guard and landed three quick punches against his chest.

The Authority of Death followed every impact.

Thor’s divine energy tried to heal the damage, but the authority delayed it long enough for Vergil to accumulate injuries. A cut on his lip became a larger opening. The broken nose did not return to place. The skin over his left eye began swelling, reducing his vision.

Thor still possessed far more energy.

None of it mattered.

He could not land a hit.

Vergil pushed him backward and waited.

Thor charged again, repeating the same advance.

Vergil released a sigh.

He avoided the first strike, blocked the second with his forearm, and punched the god’s face four times before Thor understood he had missed. The final blow threw him into a rock formation. Vergil followed and did not allow him to fall.

His left hand seized Thor by the throat.

The right struck his face.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Each blow drove the mountain farther inward behind him. The God of Thunder’s face began losing shape beneath the sequence. The skin split over his eyebrows, his jaw moved out of place, and enough blood ran through his beard to cover his chest.

Thor tried to raise his arms.

Vergil knocked them aside and continued.

There was no refined technique now. Only precision. Every punch hit a different point, destroying balance, vision, and the ability to breathe. Thor’s head was thrown from side to side while the mountain crumbled behind him.

The approaching Einherjar stopped.

None dared to interfere.

They had seen Thor destroy giants with his bare hands. Seen the god cross armies, crush monsters, and laugh while receiving fatal wounds. Now the same man was being beaten against a wall of stone without managing any effective response.

Mjölnir floated behind Vergil.

Motionless.

Watching.

Perhaps that was what humiliated Thor most.

His weapon was not trying to save him.

Vergil pulled the god forward and struck him again. Thor’s nose collapsed farther. The next blow split the skin of his cheek, and another almost completely closed his right eye.

Thor tried to speak.

Only blood and a broken sound came out.

Vergil prepared the next blow.

Then he felt it.

Danger.

Not a distant discharge or a predictable attack. It was a concentrated, ancient, and sharpened pressure approaching from a direction that had not existed until that moment.

Vergil released Thor and retreated.

A spear crossed the space where his head had been.

Gungnir’s point passed him and struck the mountain. There was no immediate explosion. For one second, nothing happened. Then the entire structure disappeared inside a column of golden energy that crossed the sky and opened a hole in the clouds.

Thor fell forward, but an invisible force held his body before it struck the ground.

Vergil landed several meters away, Yamato and Mjölnir immediately returning to his hands.

The air in Asgard became heavy.

Runes spread throughout the ruins lit up at the same time. Black ravens descended from the sky and landed over stones, destroyed trees, and the bodies of wounded Einherjar. None made a sound.

All of them watched Vergil.

A figure appeared among them.

Old.

Tall.

Dressed in dark robes and armor partially hidden beneath furs. Only one eye remained open, shining with enough energy to make the surrounding space bend. His right hand was extended toward Gungnir, which left the destroyed mountain and returned to his fingers.

Thor floated until he rested beside him, unconscious and with his face destroyed.

Vergil looked at the man.

He recognized the presence before even confirming the face.

"Odin," he murmured.

The All-Father held his son with runic energy, observed the damage across his face for several seconds, and then turned his single eye toward Vergil. There was no shock in his expression. There was calculation, controlled anger, and something very close to concern.

His gaze passed over Mjölnir in Vergil’s left hand.

Then Yamato.

Finally, the distant crater where the Bifröst had ceased to exist.

"What have you done to my realm?" Odin asked.

Vergil wiped Thor’s blood from his fingers.

"Improved it."

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