My Wives are Beautiful Demons

"Answer me, Empress. Show me that you still have teeth. Or will you accept being forgotten?"

And then he fell silent.

Waiting.

Breath held.

The provocation was fulfilled.

The board is ready.

For a moment, it seemed that silence would triumph once again.

But the Orb... pulsed.

Not as before—not with the ancestral, constant rhythm, but with something new. Profound. A primordial tremor, as if the core of the universe had contracted for an instant. As if something forgot to exist, only to remember with greater violence.

The ground shook beneath Vergil's feet. Not a physical tremor—it was the vibration of meaning. Reality itself frowned.

The sky lost its color.

The air lost its density.

And then, like a muffled roar from a buried world, came the voice.

Not audible. Not physical. It arose within him, like lightning that seeks not the sky, but the soul.

"You dare to shout before an empty throne, as if the dust were deaf. Provocative fool..."

The voice was female, but not mortal. Not human. It was the voice of ages compressed into syllables, of empires that existed before time had a name. Each word was a blow to the mind — and yet there was a cruel elegance, an unstoppable majesty to it.

Vergil staggered a step backward, but did not fall. His eyes wide. His breath caught between defiance and reverence.

"The Scarlet does not surpass me. She crawls. As she has always crawled, covered in red not for glory... but for the blood of others."

The Orb glowed like a furious sun. The veins of golden light expanded, becoming flaming serpents running across its surface — the patterns did not dance: they fought. Lines of war. Of domination.

"She screams to be noticed, throws herself into the arms of the first fallen daughter she finds, as if chaos were an argument. I don't scream. I breathe. And when I breathe... the heavens fall silent to listen."

The air became thick as molten smoke. The world seemed to bow. Something was wrong with time. The wind froze in the middle of a whirlwind — and stayed there, suspended, as if even it were waiting for the next step.

Vergil gritted his teeth.

"Then speak," he growled, his fists clenched. "Speak to me truly. If you still have a voice, if you still remember what it is to rule — show me more than shadow and poison."

"You do not challenge me, mortal. You call to me. And that is more dangerous than you understand."

The vibration increased—and for a moment, he saw her.

Not with his eyes, but with his spirit. A vast, immense form, crowned with crests of light and teeth of ages. Scales of living metal. A pair of platinum eyes, cold as the world's first night.

A dragon—not a beast. A goddess. An empress.

And she was staring at him.

"I was fire before the Sun dared to burn." The voice now filled everything. "I was crown when the world was still gray and nameless. The Scarlet is chaos disguised as urgency. I am order that drags universes by the horns."

Vergil felt his knees buckle, but forced himself to stand. Sweaty. Panting. Arrogant.

"Then choose. Use me. Wake up. Stop pretending that waiting is strategy. If she dominates first, no one will remember your order. They will remember the destruction. And the fear."

The Orb shook. Thunder echoed without clouds.

"You are not worthy."

Vergil laughed. Not because he found it funny — but because it was all that remained in the face of the abyss.

"I've been told that before. They're usually dead afterwards."

For the first time, the presence hesitated. As if... smiling.

"Your insolence is what condemns you... and what intrigues me."

The Orb's glow slowly dimmed, but did not go out. The heat, however, remained. It was like standing before a furnace that held its breath — but at any moment, it could set the firmament ablaze.

"Not yet." The word came firm, final. But there was another layer to it — as if the door had opened slightly.

"But you make me think."

Vergil was silent for a long time. His heart racing. His throat dry. But his eyes still full of defiance.

He crouched down and placed the Orb on the makeshift pedestal with reverence. Not submission — but respect. Respect for something that could crush him between thoughts.

"Don't choose me. Just listen to me. Because in the end... when the world falls again, I'll be the last one screaming."

He turned to leave, his steps slow, his body exhausted. But before he took his first step...

"Vergil."

It was the first time she had said his name. Not as a provocation. As recognition.

"Dragons don't forget." Her voice was almost a whisper now, like the end of distant thunder. 'And I am... waking up.'

The light from the Orb flickered. And for a moment, the shadows around them trembled as if a colossal eye had blinked from within reality.

"I did it..." Vergil smiled. After all, he had the perfect plan formed in his head.

The game had begun.

...

[On the other side]

The hall was quiet.

Too quiet.

Not the kind of silence that brings peace, but the kind that precedes a rupture. Like the moment between lightning and thunder. Like the slow pull of a blade that knows the taste of blood.

Sepphirothy took a step forward.

His presence was sharp, like wind in a forbidden place. His clothes danced gently in the mana-laden air, but his eyes were fixed on a single point: Runeas Gremory's necklace.

More precisely, on what hung from its center—the Scarlet Orb.

And the Orb... looked back at her.

The red light pulsed, alive, as if recognizing her approach. It was not a decorative glow. It was not a jewel. It was an eye. It was a voice. It was a sentence condensed into crystal.

Runeas took a deep breath, her fingers instinctively brushing the Orb. The room seemed to shrink around the two of them.

And then, the Empress spoke.

Not Runeas. She.

The voice pierced her flesh without warning. It touched Sepphirothy's spirit directly—as if someone had blown fire into her mind.

"You..."

The word came out slurred, numbing, like ancient, poisoned wine. A female voice, sumptuous, laden with raw power and impatient desire. An echo that seemed to have been carved in stone, kept for millennia, now released with a single sigh.

"You dare to look at me as if we were equals."