My Wives are Beautiful Demons

Vergil sat before the small tea table, one elbow resting on the wood and the forgotten cup held between his fingers. Around him, the inner world remained silent after a night that had exhausted even those creatures who normally seemed incapable of feeling fatigue.

Nivara lay on a sofa of ice, completely naked, her long blue hair spread across the backrest. Her breathing was deep, and a thin frozen mist escaped her lips with every exhale. Small crystals formed over her skin and melted a few seconds later, unable to remain intact before the heat still accumulated within her body.

Crymsaria leaned against a dark stone, her head tilted back and her eyes closed. The air around her trembled as though inside a sauna, and small droplets slid down her skin before evaporating. Even asleep, she wore a satisfied smile, as though she had won a competition no one else knew existed.

Itharine slept near Qliphoth’s roots, curled around herself. Her body occasionally reacted with small involuntary spasms, and her wings moved a few inches before settling back against the ground. Unlike the others, she seemed completely indifferent to her own condition, as though she could wake at any moment, put on some clothes, and deny that anything worthy of comment had happened.

Qliphoth occupied almost the entire length of a rug near the table. She lay on her back, her red hair spread across the ground like burning roots and her legs opened so shamelessly that she seemed to still be trying to attract Vergil’s attention even while asleep. Her breasts rose and fell slowly, even larger since the connection with Yggdrasil, while an indecent smile remained on her face.

Vergil observed the four of them for several seconds.

Was it a pleasant sight?

Yes.

There was no reason to lie to himself.

But his mind was already elsewhere.

The Bifröst remained trapped in the Demon Realm. Brynhildr carried Gjallarhorn. Freya was waiting for a route to find her brother, and Hela was probably already preparing some excessively dramatic reception in Helheim. Furthermore, three thousand Valkyries were still missing within the lower routes, and a Vanir god remained trapped in a dimension no one could locate precisely.

Vergil finished his tea.

"I need to wake up."

None of the four answered.

Qliphoth merely turned her face to the side and hugged one of her own roots as though it were a pillow.

Vergil looked at her.

"And you are not going to draw more energy from Yggdrasil without telling me."

Even asleep, Qliphoth made a displeased expression.

Crymsaria murmured something incomprehensible.

Nivara opened one eye for less than a second, observed Vergil, and returned to sleep.

Itharine did not react at all.

Vergil released a sigh and allowed his consciousness to withdraw from that place.

The inner world disappeared.

...

Vergil opened his eyes in a room he did not immediately recognize.

The ceiling was high, made of pale wood and reinforced by beams covered in small spiritual inscriptions. White curtains blocked part of the morning light, and the air carried a clean scent of water, flowers, and natural mana. There was no miasma, blood, or divine pressure around him.

He remained lying down for several seconds, feeling his own body.

His organs had been completely reconstructed.

His bones showed no cracks.

Demonic energy circulated without interruption, and his soul no longer carried the abrasive sensation left by Gungnir. The scar on his arm remained, but it did not hurt. It was only a deep mark crossing the skin, a memory that would probably remain for a long time.

That rest had worked better than expected.

Viviane’s Spiritual Lake had done most of the work. The energy absorbed during sleep had also helped. As had everything that happened within his inner world, although Vergil preferred not to analyze in detail how four entities connected to his soul managed to influence his physical recovery.

He sat up on the bed.

He wore only a pair of light trousers, probably placed on him by one of the servants after Viviane removed him from the lake. Mjölnir rested on a nearby table, surrounded by dry towels as though someone had decided that a Divine Weapon also needed to rest after being submerged.

The hammer vibrated when it noticed he was awake.

"Good morning."

Mjölnir released a small spark.

Vergil stood, rolled his shoulders, and stretched his arms. He felt no pain, only minimal stiffness along the left side of his body. After punching through Thor’s head, trading blows with Odin, and holding Gungnir while the spear tried to tear off his arms, that could be considered a complete recovery.

He walked toward a tall mirror on the opposite side of the room.

At first glance, his reflection appeared normal. White hair, pale eyes, straight posture, and the same face that naturally carried an unfriendly expression even only a few minutes after waking.

Then he noticed something on his neck.

Vergil tilted his face.

On the right side, small red scales had appeared beneath his jaw, descending in a narrow line toward the collarbone. They glowed with internal heat, and tiny particles of fire appeared between their edges before vanishing.

On the left side, the scales were blue.

Not merely blue, but translucent, covered in a thin layer of ice that did not melt at the room’s temperature. When he passed his fingers over them, he felt two different signatures respond within his soul.

Crymsaria.

Nivara.

Vergil looked at his eyes again.

His pupils had narrowed, becoming similar to those of a dragon, and his irises had gained a silver-blue depth that directly resembled Nivara’s eyes. Around them was a very thin red ring, almost invisible, carrying Crymsaria’s energy.

"It seems our connection has been established."

Nivara’s voice answered inside his mind, still drowsy.

"You finally noticed."

Crymsaria spoke immediately afterward.

"You took long enough."

"I just woke up."

"Weak excuse."

Vergil ignored her.

The connection was not merely a physical consequence of intimacy inside the inner world. The battle against Odin had forced their energies to circulate together for a long time. Nivara and Crymsaria had remained close to his soul, ready to intervene, and the rest had completed the integration that had been developing since both of them began existing within him.

The scales meant that the spiritual bodies of the two dragonesses now recognized Vergil as part of their own bloodlines.

And his body did the same.

He raised one hand.

A small red flame appeared above his palm, far denser than ordinary demonic fire. When he turned his wrist, the flame froze without going out, transforming into a blue crystal that continued burning from within.

Vergil observed the phenomenon for several seconds.

"Interesting."

Crymsaria laughed inside his mind.

"You liked it."

"It is useful."

"That means you liked it."

Nivara murmured, "Do not argue with her in the morning."

Vergil closed his hand, destroying the crystal, and concentrated on suppressing the changes. The scales receded beneath his skin. His pupils returned to their human shape, and the additional colors gradually disappeared until the reflection showed only his usual appearance.

The dragonesses’ energy remained there.

Merely hidden.

Vergil ran a hand through his hair and released a discreet yawn.

"Better."

He picked up a dark shirt that had been left on a chair, put it on, and began fastening the buttons. Then he donned the coat hanging near the door. Someone had restored part of the destroyed fabric, but marks from the battle still remained in several places. Sapphire could probably have another made within a few hours, although he saw no immediate need.

Mjölnir left the table on its own and flew into his hand.

Vergil fastened the hammer at his waist.

Yamato responded from somewhere within the spiritual connection, reappearing on the left side of his body.

The two weapons vibrated almost simultaneously.

"Do not start."

Mjölnir released a spark.

Yamato remained still, but the sheath pressed lightly against his waist.

Vergil closed his eyes for a moment.

"I already have enough problems."

His stomach answered with a low sound.

He opened his eyes.

"I am hungry."

The statement sounded strange coming from him, but the expenditure of energy had been absurd. His regeneration, the transformation of the Valkyries, the manifestation of his divine demonic form, and the prolonged battle against Odin had consumed reserves that a single night of sleep could not fully restore.

He looked toward the window.

Outside, the new European estate extended as far as he could see. Small buildings, gardens, roads, and lakes occupied the isolated territory, and several figures were already moving among the structures despite the early hour. Viviane was probably near the Spiritual Lake. Zex and Iridia should also be somewhere on the property.

Vergil could go downstairs.

Eat.

Speak with them.

Perhaps rest for a few more hours.

But the image of Frey returned to his mind.

The broken sword.

The fear felt through the ring.

The door he was trying to hold closed.

Six months might have passed for the Vanir, depending on the temporal distortion of that place. Every additional hour could mean another part of his weapon lost, more energy drained, or a new attempt by the enemy to use his body as a key.

Vergil placed one hand on Yamato.

"Better to return to the Underworld."

Nivara answered within him.

"You should still eat."

"I will eat in Sparda."

Crymsaria laughed.

"You will forget."

"Probably."

Qliphoth woke inside the inner world just enough to shout:

"USE MY BRIDGE!"

Vergil frowned.

"It is not yours."

"NOT COMPLETELY YET!"

He ignored the response and cut open space.

On the other side, the dark sky of the Demon Realm appeared, crossed by the violent colors of the Bifröst. Qliphoth’s roots wrapped around the Rainbow Bridge, now stabilized over an area near Sparda. Demons worked around the structure, and several newly transformed Valkyries patrolled the perimeter while learning to control wings, horns, and new energies.

Vergil stepped toward the passage.

Before crossing, he looked one last time at the silent room.

The rest was over.

It was time to find Freya, gather Brynhildr, retrieve Gjallarhorn, and discover why three thousand Valkyries had vanished from a realm that was supposed to contain only the dead and a few administrators.

Vergil entered the portal.

"It is time to go to Helheim."

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