My Wives are Beautiful Demons

The atmosphere shifted before Vergil could continue explaining what it meant to transform twelve thousand Valkyries into Aethernox. Four presences tore through the Demon Realm at high speed, bearing down on the sky and triggering magical alarms within Sparda’s still-incomplete structures. They were ancient, dense, and instantly recognizable energies—belonging to demons who needed no permission to traverse most of the Underworld.

The Valkyries reacted instinctively. Spears were lowered, shields raised, and the front ranks took up defensive positions in front of the more vulnerable units. Brynhildr and Sigrun moved to Vergil’s side, while Freya gazed at the dark horizon, trying to make out the four figures approaching amidst the crimson clouds.

Vergil merely partially folded his six wings.

As the presences entered Sparda’s territory, he raised a hand.

Space itself came to a halt.

There was no visible barrier. The Authority of Death, combined with the territorial dominion Vergil held over that sector of the Demon Realm, descended upon the visitors like an absolute command. The four figures instantly lost momentum and hung suspended a few hundred meters from the formation, trapped in mid-air as if reality itself had solidified around them.

Amon was the first to break through part of the pressure.

Phenex spread his flaming wings and resisted without showing aggression. Paimon did not even attempt to fight the restraint, appearing more curious than offended. Astaroth, on the other hand, strained his body forward with an irritated expression, only to realize he had advanced less than a centimeter.

The four Archdukes of the Underworld had arrived together.

Their mere presence would have been enough to send entire demon cities into a state of emergency. Amon was the current administrative ruler of the Underworld, the man responsible for keeping the great families, ancient cities, and central territories under a semblance of order. Phenex controlled legions linked to fire and regeneration. Paimon held political, magical, and personal sway over half the nobles who still mattered. Astaroth commanded military regions and was known as much for his strength as for his complete lack of self-control.

Vergil lowered his hand only when the four of them understood they wouldn’t be entering Sparda as if the territory had no king.

Paimon was the first to move.

She crossed the distance in a near-leap, completely ignoring the Valkyrie formation, the remnants of the Bifröst, and the hostile atmosphere surrounding Vergil. Her long hair trailed behind her as she opened her arms, clearly intending to throw herself onto him.

"Darling, why are there so many people here?"

Vergil placed his palm against her forehead before Paimon could reach his neck. She remained leaning forward, waving her arms in empty air as she tried to close the final few inches of distance.

"Stand still."

"But I just wanted to say hello."

"You were about to jump into my lap."

"That counts as a greeting, too."

Freya glanced at Paimon, then at Vergil, and decided not to ask. Brynhildr kept her eyes fixed on the other three Archdukes. The Valkyries remained armed, ready to react should the situation turn into a confrontation.

Amon landed on the plain with enough force to crack the ground. He was a tall demon with a rigid posture, clad in dark armor and a long cloak bearing the symbols of the capital. His eyes swept over the Bifröst caught between the roots of the Qliphoth, passed over the thousands of Valkyries arranged in formation, and finally found Vergil. His expression darkened with every new detail he noticed.

"What do you think you’re doing?"

Vergil was still keeping Paimon at bay by holding her forehead. "Be more specific."

"There’s a Norse structure cutting across the Underworld sky, twelve thousand divine warrior-women within our territory, and enough foreign energy to draw the attention of every nearby realm." Amon pointed toward the Rainbow Bridge. "Why is the Bifröst here?"

"Because I brought it."

Amon remained silent for a moment, waiting for him to elaborate.

He didn’t.

"You brought the Bifröst."

"Yes."

"From Asgard."

"Naturally."

Amon gritted his teeth. "And the Valkyries?"

"They came with me."

Brynhildr stepped forward. "We left Asgard of our own free will."

Amon turned his gaze toward her. He took in her armor, her posture, and the Gjallarhorn strapped to her back. The fact that Brynhildr carried Heimdall’s artifact spoke volumes—more than any lengthy explanation could.

Phenex landed a few meters behind Amon and remained silent. His eyes scanned everything closely—especially the Valkyries—yet there was neither lust nor hostility in his expression. He seemed to be weighing the consequences. Asgard had lost its primary female army, the Bifröst, and the Gjallarhorn. Sparda had just gained all of that in a single move. Any demon with even a shred of intelligence would understand that the political balance across multiple worlds had just shifted.

Astaroth lacked that shred of intelligence.

He landed beside Phenex and let his gaze wander over the ranks of Valkyries, making no effort to hide his lust. His attention lingered on the warriors in the front lines, then shifted to Brynhildr, Sigrun, and Freya. A nasty smile spread across his face.

"Twelve thousand?" he asked. "You really know how to accept gifts, Vergil."

Some of the Valkyries tightened their grip on their spears.

Astaroth took a step forward.

"That armor hides a lot. Perhaps we could divide them up before deciding where they’ll be stationed."

Vergil finally let go of Paimon.

Mjölnir left his waist before anyone could grasp the shift in his intent. The hammer spun once in his hand, and the lightning forming around its metal head no longer held a single nature. Demonic black, the red of Wrath, the purple of Death, and divine gold compressed into a single point.

Astaroth had just enough time to widen his eyes.

Vergil swung Mjölnir.

The bolt tore across the plain like a line too wide to be called mere lightning. The discharge engulfed Astaroth, piercing through his armor, his body, his soul, and the authority that kept him alive. The Archduke didn’t even have time to scream. His form was reduced to a charred mass for less than a second before disintegrating into black, gold, and red particles. The heatwave swept past the Valkyries without touching them.

Behind Astaroth, the landscape vanished for several kilometers.

A heavy silence followed.

Phenex closed his eyes for a moment, as if he had foreseen this the instant Astaroth opened his mouth. Paimon’s smile vanished. Brynhildr and Sigrun looked at Vergil, then at the empty space where one of the Underworld’s four greatest demons had stood just seconds before.

Amon reacted.

His energy exploded outward, his cloak whipped back, and a demonic sword materialized in his hand. He took half a step forward but didn’t complete the movement.

Four weapons surrounded his head.

The tip of Sapphire’s spear stopped right in front of his left eye. Sepphirothy’s sword pressed against the side of his neck. A blade formed of primordial blood appeared in Lilith’s hand and rested beneath his chin. Neberius appeared behind him—still bearing bruises from the earlier training session—holding a curved scythe against the back of his neck.

None of them had announced their arrival.

Amon froze.

Sapphire glared at him with utter impatience. "Go ahead. Try it."

Sepphirothy remained calm, though her sword had already begun to erase the energy around his throat.

Lilith smiled. "I’m curious, too."

Neberius tightened his grip on the scythe. "Please, do something stupid. I’m in a foul mood."

Amon shifted only his eyes, trying to grasp how he had been surrounded so quickly. "What the hell is this?"

Vergil rested Mjölnir on his shoulder.

"Shut up. I’m sick of this shit."

Amon looked at him indignantly. "You just killed an Archduke."

"I noticed."

"Inside Underworld territory."

"Inside *my* territory."

"Astaroth answered to the capital." "Then find someone else."

Amon stood completely motionless, as if unsure he had heard correctly.

Vergil continued without raising his voice. "Go back to the capital, manage your shitty city, and pick someone to replace Astaroth. Preferably someone capable of looking at twelve thousand women without acting like an animal in heat."

Paimon raised a hand to her mouth, hiding a smile that shouldn’t have been there at that moment. Phenex turned his face away, though his expression remained neutral.

Lilith finally took a closer look at Vergil.

The change in her expression was immediate.

"Wait."

She pulled the blade back slightly from Amon’s neck but didn’t lower it completely.

"What happened to you?"

Vergil was still nursing internal injuries from the fight against Odin. His regeneration had rebuilt his organs and bones, yet his energy circulation remained erratic. The massive scar left by Gungnir ran across his arm—dark and deep—and small divine fissures still occasionally appeared on his skin before being consumed by demonic energy.

Sepphirothy noticed it too.

Her eyes narrowed.

"That scar wasn’t there before."

Neberius tilted his head slightly. "And he smells like Norse magic."

Sapphire wasn’t looking at the injuries.

She was staring at Mjölnir.

Her spear pulled back a few centimeters from Amon as she recognized the runes, the shape, and the divine energy contained within the hammer.

"That is..."

"Mjölnir," Vergil replied.

Sapphire slowly turned her face toward him. "How?"

Vergil let out a weary sigh. "Heimdall wanted to play god with me. He paid the price. Thor and Odin wanted to play, too."

He pointed Mjölnir toward the Rainbow Bridge, which was ensnared by the Qliphoth.

"So I stole the Bifröst."

Then he lifted the hammer slightly.

"And Mjölnir."

Sapphire remained silent.

Lilith looked at the bridge, then at the hammer, and finally at the scar on his arm.

"You faced Odin?"

"Yes."

"And made it back?"

"I’m here."

Sepphirothy seemed torn between pride, irritation, and the urge to examine him immediately. "You could have let us know."

"I didn’t have time."

"You always say that."

"Because it’s usually true." Amon exploded in anger, tired of being ignored while four weapons hovered around his head. "That doesn’t matter! You killed Astaroth right in front of me and are acting as if you’d just crushed an insect!"

Vergil glanced at the energy remnants left behind by the Archduke.

The Authority of Gluttony swirled around his hand like a dark mass. The fragments of Astaroth still scattered across the ground were instantly drawn in—energy, essence, fragmented memories, and the partially destroyed demonic core alike. Vergil compressed and devoured it all within seconds.

Not a trace remained.

He clenched his fingers, feeling the energy being stored away without yet fully integrating it into his own body.

"That moron chose to think with his dick instead of his head," Vergil said. "I killed him. Got a problem with that?"

Amon shouted, "Of course there’s a problem!"

His energy surged once more.

Sapphire pressed the tip of her spear against his skin.

A single drop of blood trickled down.

Vergil stood motionless for a few seconds, staring at the ruler of the Underworld. The exhaustion from the fight against Odin, the resistance put up by Gungnir, the Valkyries’ retreat, Freya’s instability, and the need to transform thousands of female warriors before the miasma consumed them—all of it had completely drained his patience.

Then, his form shifted.

His white hair lengthened, cascading down to his waist. The purple horns of Death elongated above his head. The whites of his eyes turned pitch black, while armor made of shadows materialized over his shoulder and extended down to his hand. His six wings—three divine and three demonic—spread violently wide, and the Authorities of the Seven Deadly Sins manifested around his body as distinct layers of pressure.

The entire plain sank a few centimeters.

The color drained from Amon’s face. He might not have witnessed the battle in Asgard, but he recognized the difference between Vergil’s ordinary form and the entity standing before him. He also recognized the scent of divine blood, the energy of Odin trapped within the scar, and the fact that Mjölnir sat comfortably in another man’s grasp.

Vergil pointed the hammer at him.

"Tail between your legs—get lost."

Amon tightened his grip on his sword.

Vergil continued, "I’ve got enough problems as it is. Twelve thousand Valkyries to protect, another three thousand trapped in Helheim, a missing god, a corrupted death structure, Odin gunning for my head, and a Rainbow Bridge to install in my realm."

The pressure intensified.

The weapons belonging to Sapphire, Sepphirothy, Lilith, and Neberius remained hovering around Amon.

"I don’t want to have to kill you, too."

Amon looked at the four women, at Mjölnir, at Vergil’s wings, and at the twelve thousand Valkyries who were now watching him in complete silence. His energy still crackled around his body, but rational thought began to prevail over his outrage.

Phenex finally spoke.

"Amon."

The ruler of the Underworld did not look at him.

Phenex continued: "Astaroth made a sexual threat against an army under the direct protection of another king—within that king’s territory—at a time when the political situation was already unstable. You can argue about the execution later. Attacking now would be foolish."

Paimon stepped a little closer to Amon and smiled with feigned sweetness. "And I would be very sad if Vergil had to kill you, too."

"Are you on his side?" Amon asked.

"I’m almost always on the side of the best-looking one."

Amon closed his eyes.

He took a deep breath.

The sword vanished from his hand.

Sapphire did not immediately lower her spear. Sepphirothy also waited a few seconds before withdrawing her sword. Lilith was the first to dispel her blood weapon, and Neberius kept her scythe close at hand until Amon began to retreat.

"This doesn’t end here," he said.

Vergil slowly returned to his normal form. "It ends if you have enough work waiting for you in the capital."

Amon cast one last glance at the spot where Astaroth had died, then at the Bifröst and the Valkyries. A demonic portal opened behind him.

"Phenex. Paimon."

Phenex followed without argument.

Paimon remained by Vergil’s side.

Amon looked at her. "You too."

She held onto Vergil’s arm. "No."

"Paimon."

"I’m busy."

"Doing what?"

She looked at the scar on Vergil’s arm. "Looking after my dear’s health." Vergil pulled his arm away from her grasp. "Go with Amon."

Paimon looked offended. "You too?"

"Yes."

She grimaced but eventually stepped through the portal. Phenex followed right after, and Amon vanished last without another word. The opening closed, leaving Sparda’s territory once again filled with the distant sound of Qliphoth roots working on the Bifröst.

Neberius glanced at the spot where they had disappeared.

"He’s going to complain for weeks."

Vergil turned to the Valkyries. "Let him complain."

Brynhildr surveyed the remains of the crater carved out by the lightning bolt that had killed Astaroth. Then, she looked at Vergil.

None of the twelve thousand warriors seemed confused about what had just transpired.

Even before receiving a new race, a city, or a territory of their own, they had just witnessed the Demon King execute one of the Underworld’s most important rulers for treating them like objects—and then stand his ground against the man who governed that entire realm, without backing down.

It wasn’t an abstract promise of freedom.

It was protection made manifest.

Vergil let out a sigh and stepped back in front of the formation.

"Now that the interruption is over..."

He spread his six wings once more.

"Let’s resolve your situation before someone else shows up to annoy me."

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