My Wives are Beautiful Demons

"I must really be going crazy..." Vergil said, narrowing his eyes at Sapphire. '...to hear you say you're 'focused' instead of admitting you're afraid."

The words hung in the air like a well-measured provocation. But he knew the risk.

Sapphire slowly turned her face toward him. And in the blink of an eye, the atmosphere changed.

Vergil felt that familiar yet terrifying sensation he had felt when he first met her.

The light in her emerald eyes was swallowed by a deep, almost liquid shadow that spread like black ink in pure water. The pressure came immediately after, suffocating, as if the very space around them was being compressed by a presence that did not belong to that plane.

The darkness emanating from her was not theatrical—it was real. An ancient, predatory, primitive force. An entity that would not only kill... but undo.

Vergil's hair stood on end, and his entire body screamed in alert. The air grew thick, each breath requiring effort. And then, for a brief, terrible moment, he felt... not fear... but the destruction of himself. As if his spirit were being erased, torn from existence by a predator far, far older than himself.

And then, he cut it off.

With a subtle wave—almost lazy—Vergil let his death energy flow through his skin, swallowing her oppressive aura as if he were dispelling smoke with a snap of his fingers. The tide turned in silence.

"Damn..." he muttered, frowning, his voice low but laden with intentional weight. A half-smile appeared on his lips. 'You really hate it when I get you right the first time, don't you?'

Sapphire blinked, control returning to her eyes as if someone had turned on a light inside her. The amber glow returned, wavering for a second—and then steady, but with a slight tinge of embarrassment.

She bit her tongue, looking away with an expression somewhere between irritated and resigned.

"Tsk... idiot," she growled, crossing her arms and turning her face away like a wounded cat trying to hide her vulnerability.

Vergil smiled, taking a step closer. "Sorry, honey," he said in a sincere but still provocative tone. There was affection beneath the sarcasm—the kind that only arises between two monsters who know each other too well.

Sapphire didn't respond, but her aura had returned to normal. And despite the look of feigned anger, he saw something else in her eyes: respect. And a touch of fear, perhaps — not of danger, but of how much he saw her.

Ada, who watched everything with her usual stoicism, just sighed deeply, like someone witnessing a storm that was bound to happen and no longer trying to stop the rain.

"If you're done measuring who roars the loudest," Ada said, without even raising her voice, 'maybe we can get back to the main issue. We have a dragon about to awaken.'

Vergil let out a slight chuckle through his nose, the corners of his lips curving into a restrained smile. He nodded, his gaze returning briefly to the pulsating orb in front of them.

"While we're dealing with this... little beauty," he said, 'did my mother go after Cabernet's daughter?'

"Yes, she did," Ada replied, calm as ever, crossing her arms. 'A few minutes before I called you.'

Vergil raised an eyebrow, his tone tinged with slight suspicion. "Alone?"

"You know your mother," Ada said with a brief sigh. 'She hardly ever accepts company when she's made up her mind. She said she needed to resolve this personally.'

Vergil clicked his tongue, as if hearing an old story repeat itself. "I just hope she's not getting herself into more trouble than she intends."

Ada shrugged, her gaze now fixed on the floating orb. "She's an old woman. Creating problems is part of her resume."

Sapphire let out a low chuckle, finally relaxing a little. "At least she's honest."

...

The sky above the Gremory territory was perpetually dark, tinged with crimson clouds that seemed never to dissipate. The air was hot, dense, laden with the metallic scent of infernal power. Before the colossal Gremory Palace appeared the figure of... Well, Sepphirothy Lucifer.

She did not need to announce her arrival. Her mere walking caused the energy around her to tremble. The flames of the demonic torches at the entrance flickered, as if wavering before something greater than they were prepared to withstand.

She wore a dark fabric dress that billowed without wind, her white hair flowing like living silk. Her eyes, deep and calm blue, scanned the surroundings with imperial indifference.

Two demonic soldiers stood guard at the main entrance. Both wore black armor cracked in places, with crooked horns and greedy eyes. They noticed her with a mocking laugh that soon turned into something more disgusting.

"Hey, hey... look at the gift hell sent us today..." said one, licking his lips. 'Is this all just for show, or do you know how to play too, madam?'

The other laughed, taking two steps forward, blocking her path. "Where are you going with that queenly look? Here, you wait for us to evaluate you... up close."

Sepphirothy did not respond immediately.

She just stopped. Her expression did not change. Not an inch of her body moved—and yet, the entire room seemed to freeze for a second.

Then she raised her eyes, fixing them on the demon in front of her.

"You have two seconds," she said, her voice as calm as the sound of a blade sliding through its sheath. 'To take your eyes off me and get out of my way.'

They laughed—for a brief moment.

And it was the last sound any of them could make before the air around them shattered with a sharp crack. In the blink of an eye, one of the soldiers was thrown against the black stone wall with invisible force. The impact cracked the demonic blocks like glass.

The other tried to raise his weapon—but she was already in front of him. She didn't move. She didn't take a step. And yet she loomed before him like an omen. Her eyes burned like dead stars.

"Demons have gotten dumber and dumber over the years," she muttered, and extended a finger.

The soldier's shadow writhed on the ground, as if it had taken on a life of its own — it climbed up his legs, his chest, his throat. He tried to scream, but darkness had already invaded his mouth, his eyes, his soul.

With a subtle gesture, Sepphirothy released him.

Both soldiers fell, unconscious. Or dead. It didn't matter.

She looked at the palace's large doors, which opened with a dull creak—not out of obedience, but out of fear.

Sepphirothy took a deep breath, her eyes impassive.

"Now yes. As it should be." She said and passed by them, but quickly, a shadow appeared and bowed.

"I'm sorry." She said, a white-haired woman with braids and a maid's outfit spoke.

"Grayfia." Sepphirothy said, analyzing Cabernet's personal maid.