My Wives are Beautiful Demons

[Red Marble Hall], also known as [Heart of the Black Rose], was a structure forgotten by kings and whispered about only in enchanted kitchens and hidden halls of great infernal castles.

A colossal and elegantly sinister space, where floating chandeliers danced with blue flames, and the dark stone walls pulsed slightly with living magic. In the center, a round table of infernal ebony, delicately carved with ancient symbols that could only be read by those who knew the secrets of absolute servitude.

On the table lay a hand-embroidered tablecloth in demonic silk, with black flowers and silver threads. A teapot releasing lavender steam floated gently, automatically pouring itself into the porcelain cups of each member present.

And around it, five women—different in stature, aura, and intensity, but equal in one detail: they all wore the impeccable uniform of demonic servitude.

Not just any servitude.

The Society of Demonic Servants.

The elite. The shadows within the shadows. Those who, under aprons and restrained smiles, hid secrets capable of rewriting treaties between hells.

Greyfia, representative of the Gremory house, sat with the perfect posture of someone who knew where every object in the room was without looking. Her braided white hair flowed down her back like strands of ancient snow, and her blue eyes were hard as magical ice. She stirred her tea with gentle movements, but her mind was clearly already reviewing three contingency plans simultaneously.

Next to her, in complete contrast, was Ei, from the Baal clan—short-cut lilac hair, sparkling purple eyes, a smile as sharp as a fine blade. Her presence was more informal, almost lazy, with her legs elegantly crossed and a magic lollipop in her mouth. But no one there was fooled: Ei was a storm waiting for the right moment to turn into a hurricane. There she was herself, outside she was a cold and precise maid.

Novah, from the Agares Clan, had an aura of silent solemnity. Her long golden hair was tied back in a simple ponytail, and her red eyes always seemed to be evaluating, measuring, weighing. She stood there in black gloves, without a single speck of dust on her uniform. She looked more like a pop diva than a demon, but she was calm.

Viviane... she ended up having to join precisely because of Vergil. When she took on the role of his maid, she was forced to join this association. She had deep blue hair and intense blue eyes, and drank tea with the elegance of a queen in disguise. She was the most reserved—or rather, cautious. The kind of silence that made demons kneel before even hearing her voice.

Finally, Hilda, from the Sitri clan, with vibrant green hair, loose like living vines, and light blue eyes of illusory purity. Hilda smiled more than the others, as if she knew something no one else knew — or as if she had already poisoned the tea, just to keep the game interesting.

The soft sound of tea being served was interrupted only by the slight clinking of spoons in cups. For a few minutes, the silence was more than comfortable — it was tense. Like the calm before a meticulously rehearsed war.

Greyfia was the first to break the spell.

"Walpurgis is less than two weeks away." Her voice was firm as enchanted steel. "And so far, none of the clans have confirmed the security protocol for the meeting."

"Nor the menu," added Hilda, balancing her cup on one finger, as if spinning fate between her nails. "If a noble from the House of Forneus has an allergic reaction to suekron cream, we'll have another war between kingdoms over dessert."

"Another one?" murmured Ei, popping the lollipop out of her mouth with a sharp snap. "Remember last year? That lust gas attack in the middle of dinner? I almost bit the prince of Aamon's leg. And he liked it."

"We're talking about gathering all the big demonic names in a single closed hall, with enchanted wine, ancient heirlooms, and egos the size of continents," said Novah, adjusting her gloves with military precision. "This needs absolute control. One slip... and not even the porcelain will be left."

Viviane remained silent, but watched everything with eyes like blades dipped in ice. She knew the risk very well. Vergil would probably be there. And where Vergil was, chaos was not a possibility—it was a guarantee.

Greyfia sighed lightly. "We'll need perfect division. Coordination between clans, unified protocols, magical codes for detecting and neutralizing curses."

"And decorations." Hilda smiled with relish. "Nothing says 'inter-realm peace' like a three-hundred-meter table covered in black roses that exude controlled desire."

"Focus, Hilda." Novah cut in, but without losing her composure.

And then... the air changed.

A subtle chill ran down the backs of the five. Not a breeze—but a shift in authority, a presence as ancient as the First Demon War, and as sharp as a contract sealed with the blood of a hundred virgins.

From the center of the room, as if emerging from the shadow beneath the table itself, she appeared.

Stella Leviathan.

The leader of the Society.

Tall, slender, wrapped in an impeccable uniform that seemed woven from the night and embroidered with dead stars. Her hair was a long veil of deep black with petrol blue highlights, and her eyes—doubly anomalous, one golden and one silver—seemed to pierce the souls gathered there effortlessly. Each step she took was the sound of elegance meeting predator.

"You call this 'planning'?" she said, her tone sharper than any scream. "If this was the level of the meetings, I would have let the cooks of the ninth circle organize Walpurgis."

The five immediately sat up a little straighter. Viviane adjusted her posture, Hilda hid her mischievous smile. Greyfia didn't even blink.

"Lady Leviathan," Greyfia began with a restrained bow.

"Silence." Stella raised a finger, and time seemed to slow down for a moment. 'I'm not here to listen to excuses. I'm here because Throne Night requires more than tea and gossip.'

She circled the table, passing behind each one like a scythe floating among flowers.

"You will divide the duties. Not by affinity, but by efficiency. Walpurgis will not be just a celebration. It will be a statement. A demonstration of order... before the inevitable collapse."

She stopped behind Viviane.

"And you, new among us... you have eyes that know chaos. Good. You will coordinate the personal security of high-risk guests. Like Vergil. He will be a point of tension. And attraction."

Viviane nodded, without arguing. 'I'll kill her at the first opportunity.'

Stella then turned to the center of the table and snapped her fingers. An enchanted scroll appeared in the air and unrolled itself on the ebony surface.

"Task list. Assignments. Permitted detection spells. And an arcane map of the structure where the banquet will take place. I want the hall ready, sealed, protected, and aesthetically flawless in eight days."

She crossed her arms. The air around her seemed denser. More serious.

"Fail... and it won't be you serving tea the next morning. It will be your replacements. Understood?"

"Understood," said the five in unison, like a chorus of restrained thunder.

The Society meeting had just begun—for real.

And Walpurgis would be flawless.

Or it would be a massacre.