My Wives are Beautiful Demons

Vergil kept his eyes raised toward Yggdrasil’s distorted sky for a few more seconds, watching Niddrog’s colossal figure continue gnawing at the roots of the World Tree with an almost offensive naturalness. The creature showed no hurry, no concern, and no awareness of any moral scale. She simply existed there like a living calamity, bound to her own monstrous habit of devouring what sustained countless realms.

The entire scene seemed designed to remind anyone watching that this was not an ordinary battlefield. It was a domain older than empires, gods, and even most of the logic that organized the worlds. The air was thick, dunes of gray dust stretched like the remains of dead ages, and Yggdrasil’s massive roots rose and fell like organic walls, some already partially destroyed by the dragon’s absurd teeth.

Vergil slowly exhaled, then slipped his hands into his pockets as if he were evaluating an irritating logistical problem rather than a dimensional dragon the size of a natural disaster. His eyes moved from Niddrog to Nivara and Crymsaria, who still stood behind him in their human forms, both watching the creature with a very specific kind of attention.

It was not fear.

It was not hesitation.

It was recognition.

Dragons understood better than any other race what it meant to look at another draconic being and measure territory, instinct, dominance, and madness within it.

Vergil noticed immediately.

"You two," he said without taking his eyes off the creature in the distance, "transform. I’ll supply however much power you need to fight that thing. I’d do it myself, but I don’t have a body big enough to trade blows with a monster that size, and being small in this situation sounds like a stupid idea."

Nivara turned toward him, and even in that devastated landscape she still possessed that cold, almost arrogant elegance that seemed to come from ice incorporated into her very existence. Her white hair, lashes that looked drawn with frost, and the cutting calm in her gaze remained unchanged as she answered.

"You are still thinking like someone who has not fully grown accustomed to what he carries inside himself. We do not need your power to fight. We are Celestial Dragons. We were sealed inside you, not emptied. Our strength was never taken from us. It was simply placed at rest within your domain."

Crymsaria, beside her, smiled in a livelier, more aggressive, more open way. Unlike Nivara, her presence carried heat, motion, and a kind of natural ferocity that always seemed one step away from becoming actual fire. Her lava-red hair moved as she slightly tilted her head and completed her rival’s explanation.

"What we need isn’t energy. We need authorization. You’re the core that contains us. As long as we’re linked to you, your will is what unlocks the rest. So instead of worrying about feeding us power, just say we can use everything."

Vergil looked at the two of them for a moment, then shrugged as if that simplified the problem considerably.

"Then use everything."

The answer had barely left his mouth when Crymsaria moved first.

She did not dramatize the action, step back, or prepare any elaborate ritual. She simply jumped forward, and in midair her body began multiplying in size, mass, and presence with elegant violence.

Her human silhouette lengthened. Her limbs reshaped. Her spine expanded. Gigantic wings tore through the space behind her, and scarlet plates emerged like living armor over a body rapidly abandoning anything mortals would have called a woman.

Within moments, where a humanoid figure had stood, there now towered a majestic red dragon, colossal, with deep crimson scales, a lighter chest protected by dense layers of natural plating, and massive black horns curving backward like blades carved by war itself.

The heat around her rose until the air visibly warped, and when her eyes fully opened, they carried the natural confidence of a predator born at the top of every food chain that mattered.

Nivara did not remain behind.

Her body rose from the ground with a lightness that lied about what would come next, and then her transformation unfolded in the opposite manner from Crymsaria’s.

Where the red dragon was impulse, heat, and aggressive expansion, Nivara transformed like an ice storm assuming a defined shape.

Her human silhouette was wrapped in white-blue radiance, and the draconic body emerged as though sculpted from ancient crystal, compressed snow, and pure glacial authority.

Within seconds, she too had assumed her true form: a gigantic white dragon of almost absurd beauty, with pale scales reflecting blue light at the joints and edges, enormous wings translucent on the inside like layers of pure ice, a noble head marked by sharp crests, and cold eyes that seemed capable of freezing the very intent of anyone who faced her.

She landed atop a colossal root with the majesty of an entity that acknowledged no superiority above itself.

The two, now in their complete forms, had grown until they matched Niddrog’s scale.

They were not smaller.

They were not merely enormous creatures standing before an incomparable enemy.

No.

They occupied the space with the same monstrous legitimacy as another ancient dragon, and the sight of both before Yggdrasil made everything even more impressive.

Crymsaria was the wildfire that would walk through cities without looking back.

Nivara was the ice age that would bury entire kingdoms beneath white silence.

Together, they formed a contrast as absurd as it was natural.

Vergil smiled at the sight.

It was small, but sincere.

"Very well. You two can do whatever you want."

Crymsaria turned her enormous head toward him, and even on that draconic face filled with fangs and scarlet plates, the fierce humor was perfectly recognizable.

"That sounds like the best thing you’ve ever told us."

Nivara slightly opened one wing, scattering frozen crystals through the air as she inclined her neck with almost unbearable dignity.

"I have always wanted to test my strength against a different dragon. We spent entire lifetimes occupied with each other, competing, fighting, crushing everything around us, and being compared as though the universe only had room for one at the top. It is almost disappointing to realize it took this long for a new target to appear."

Crymsaria released a deep sound that, coming from a dragon of that size, resembled laughter mixed with thunder.

"Rivals our entire lives, and we almost never got the chance to beat up other dragons. This is finally starting to get fun."

Vergil simply watched, unsurprised that both of them treated a creature like Niddrog almost like an unexpected gift.

Then he walked over to one of the nearby roots, placed a hand against its rough surface, and used a precise cut of energy to separate a block wide enough to serve as a seat. A few more movements transformed the root into an improvised chair, simple, sturdy, and perfectly suitable for someone who clearly saw no reason to remain standing just to watch.

He sat down calmly, rested one arm against the improvised backrest, and raised his eyes toward the two Celestial Dragons as they beat their wings and gained altitude toward the sky occupied by Niddrog.

The sight was absurd.

Two titanic draconic entities crossed the air of a domain that looked like the graveyard of ages, one red like incandescent devastation and the other white like the death of summer, both flying directly toward the creature devouring the roots of the World Tree.

Around them, fragments of shattered roots continued falling from above like a rain of cosmic debris, while Niddrog’s distant roar echoed between the trunks, carrying cruel indifference.

Vergil followed their ascent with his eyes and, without any hurry, spun Mjölnir once in his hand before resting it beside the root chair.

Then, as though starting a casual conversation during an ordinary break, he asked the hammer:

"So... can you hurt that thing?"

Mjölnir trembled in his hand.

It was not a random vibration.

It was a clear response, almost hesitant, and Vergil had spent enough time around weapons with strong personalities to understand what it meant.

He raised one eyebrow slightly.

"I see."

His eyes returned to the sky, following Nivara and Crymsaria as they drew closer and closer to Niddrog.

"So it’s going to be difficult, huh?"

Mjölnir vibrated again, this time with a more obvious agreement, as though the Divine Weapon itself was acknowledging that the target exceeded the comfortable scale of ordinary brutality.

Vergil released a small sound through his nose, somewhere between an almost-laugh and a practical acceptance of the situation.

"Great," he murmured, settling more comfortably into the improvised chair while Yggdrasil’s dead sky prepared to receive a collision between dragons capable of reshaping entire landscapes.

"Then at least this is going to be interesting."

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