My Wives are Beautiful Demons

Yggdrasil remained silent for a few moments after confirming that everything—from the Valkyries being thrown into the roots to Frey accidentally entering the Inverted World of Exile—had been nothing more than an absurd chain of violent coincidences.

Her expression did not change much, but Vergil noticed an ancient exhaustion behind that almost technical serenity.

It was the expression of someone who spent entire ages recording anomalies, correcting damage, watching worlds flourish and collapse, and who still occasionally had to deal with proud creatures, insane dragons, and perverted demonic trees stealing energy from her roots.

She then brought two fingers to her temple and let out a long sigh, almost maternal, but carrying an exhaustion that did not match her delicate appearance.

"I really need to take care of a few things before you make my day even worse."

Vergil was about to answer, but Yggdrasil simply raised one hand and snapped her fingers.

The effect was immediate.

Three figures dropped out of the air and hit the ground of golden leaves with absolutely no dignity.

The first landed on her ass and let out a sharp sound of indignation, reaching both hands behind herself and rubbing her backside with an outrageously expressive look of pain.

The second landed in a more controlled manner, but still ended up on her knees, slowly straightening while massaging her own ass and looking away with an expression of glacial irritation, like someone who would rather die than admit that it had hurt.

The third landed with far more weight, stabilizing herself only at the last instant, but was still forced to put one knee and one hand against the ground before raising her head, clearly ready to start an argument.

Crymsaria was the first to open her mouth.

"Ow, my ass fucking hurts!"

Nivara said nothing.

She simply continued massaging one cheek with her palm, her face rigid with offended humiliation, and when her eyes met Yggdrasil’s, she immediately looked away as if refusing to verbally acknowledge that she had just been ripped out of the middle of a titanic battle and thrown around like a disobedient child.

Yggdrasil looked at the two of them like a teacher watching two brilliant students who had decided to set the school on fire.

"Arrogant as always, hm?"

Crymsaria immediately shrank back.

It was an automatic, almost involuntary movement.

The great red dragon who, only minutes earlier, had turned Yggdrasil’s skies into an artificial sun and tried to beat Niddrog into insanity now looked like a girl caught stealing sweets.

Nivara remained silent, but the tension in her shoulders made it obvious that she understood perfectly well what position she was in.

Yggdrasil did not waste time on a long lecture.

She snapped her fingers again.

The two changed before Vergil’s eyes.

Crymsaria’s body shrank first, her features softening, her proportions rapidly diminishing until she looked like a child around ten years old.

Nivara suffered the same fate, the cold air around her retracting as her adult form was compressed, refined, and reduced to the figure of a small girl with features still far too beautiful, perfectly white hair, and dignity wounded beyond acceptable limits.

Then, as though that were not enough, three cone-shaped hats appeared in the air.

Yggdrasil placed one on Crymsaria’s head and another on Nivara’s.

On both, in perfectly legible letters, was written:

Idiot.

Crymsaria widened her eyes.

Nivara merely closed hers for a moment, as though internally asking existence itself to grant her the mercy of death.

Unlike Qliphoth, however, neither of them began begging or screaming.

Crymsaria puffed out her cheeks and crossed her arms, sulking at an almost comical level.

Nivara remained absolutely silent, her expression so cold that Vergil almost believed she had frozen her own embarrassment from the inside.

The real problem, however, was the third figure.

Vergil turned his eyes toward her, and for the first time since she appeared, he had enough time to examine her properly.

The woman in front of him looked nothing like the brutal, colossal, monstrous dragon devouring roots beneath dead skies.

She had taken on a humanoid form—or something close to it—with a strange kind of beauty, far too refined for someone who gnawed on the World Tree as a habit.

Her long bluish hair fell into two large side tails that moved lightly, framing a face far too young for the age she carried.

Her features were delicate, but not fragile.

Her eyes had an arrogant, sharp, almost insolent depth, as though they looked upon everything with the natural certainty of someone accustomed to being the most absurd creature in the room.

Her body was dressed in pale fabrics with golden details that resembled ceremonial ornaments more than practical clothing, with bands and decorative plates wrapping around her waist, hips, and chest, as well as a strange circular motif at the center of the outfit, like a symbolic eye embedded in the clothing itself.

Something still hovered around her that revealed her true nature.

No matter how elegant or slender she looked, the sensation coming from her was that of a colossal beast forcibly stuffed inside a human shape.

She lifted her chin, furious.

"Yggdrasil, how dare you—"

"Quiet, Niddrog."

The order came out dry.

It was not loud.

It did not need to be.

The reaction was immediate and deeply uncomfortable to watch.

Niddrog opened her mouth to continue, but no sound came out.

Her eyes widened, her face twisted with indignation, and she tried to force the words free, but nothing came.

Not a sound.

Not even a whisper.

It was as though language itself had been ripped away from her by a superior authority.

She brought a hand to her throat, tried to scream again, huffed without producing any sound, then shot Yggdrasil a murderous glare, vibrating with pure powerless rage.

Yggdrasil, meanwhile, brought a hand to her forehead.

The entire scene was clearly giving her a headache.

"Enough," she said with the exact patience of someone who had repeated those words far too many times across the ages. "The three of you can turn simple problems into a cosmological seizure, and then you still expect me to be in a good mood."

She then looked back at Niddrog and, without completely removing the seal of silence, adjusted something in the golden lines running through the air around the dragon.

The restriction loosened just enough to allow a controlled response.

"Explain it to him," Yggdrasil ordered, pointing toward Vergil. "Explain what you did with the Valkyries."

Niddrog took a deep breath, still furious, but this time the words came out.

They came with effort, full of unwillingness, but they came.

"I found them falling through the lower layers," she said, her voice surprisingly beautiful despite being stained by chronic irritation. "They would have died, been scattered, or swallowed by unstable regions if I had left them wandering around. So I divided my body, gathered them all in one place, and put them into a deep sleep until someone came to retrieve them."

Vergil blinked.

"What do you mean, divided your body?"

Before Niddrog could answer with the sarcasm she clearly wanted to use, Yggdrasil decided to intervene.

"Those creatures you were calling offspring, spawn, or a nest were not her descendants. They were extensions of Niddrog herself. Parts of her body, manifested separately."

Vergil stared at Yggdrasil.

Then slowly turned his face toward Niddrog.

Then back to Yggdrasil.

"You forgot to mention that earlier."

"Yes," Yggdrasil replied without any embarrassment. "I forgot to correct you."

"That would have been useful information."

"Without a doubt."

Crymsaria, now in child form and wearing the idiot cone, muttered quietly:

"I knew that smelled more like one dragon than a whole brood."

Nivara turned her eyes toward her.

"You literally tried to rip her head off."

"That doesn’t invalidate my analysis."

Vergil brought one hand to his face for a moment.

The entire situation truly made him feel like a child caught by his own mother after destroying half the house because he had completely misunderstood what was happening.

He slowly exhaled, lowered his hand, and then, to the surprise of Yggdrasil, Qliphoth, and even the small versions of Nivara and Crymsaria, properly turned toward Niddrog.

"Then I owe you an apology."

Niddrog raised an eyebrow.

Vergil held her gaze and continued without irony.

"The stories about you aren’t exactly favorable. A dragon that gnaws on the roots of the World Tree, lives in the depths, and is associated with decay, destruction, and chaos does not sound like the sort of creature anyone would imagine protecting kidnapped Valkyries. When I found that place, I didn’t see the whole picture. I saw my warriors unconscious inside your domain and concluded that you intended to kill them. That’s why I attacked."

Niddrog snorted, now with sound.

"For someone who says he’s grateful, you were pretty ungrateful."

The reply came with dignified anger, but it was not entirely empty.

There was resentment there, but not blind hatred.

Vergil noticed that.

"Fair," he admitted. "Still, thank you for keeping them alive."

Niddrog crossed her arms beneath her chest and turned her face away with wounded arrogance.

"Hmph."

Yggdrasil observed the exchange in silence for several seconds, as though evaluating whether this might finally lead to some minimal form of cooperation instead of more pointless destruction.

Around them, the golden leaves continued glowing softly, carrying the weight of an ancient peace that had been interrupted by misunderstandings, absurd coincidences, and personalities far too strong to share the same space.

Qliphoth, small and humiliated beneath her idiot cone, looked from Vergil to Niddrog and from Niddrog to Yggdrasil, clearly calculating whether there was any chance of escaping her punishment.

Nivara maintained her usual frozen silence, though her child form made her irritation far less intimidating than she would have liked.

Crymsaria, meanwhile, already looked like she was about to complain about her ass again.

Vergil, at least for that moment, decided to accept his own role in the confusion.

He had invaded a domain he barely understood, started a war with a dimensional dragon, nearly set the World Tree on fire, and was now discovering that most of it had come from a misunderstanding.

Which, in practice, was not exactly a new development in his recent life.

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