My Wives are Beautiful Demons

Vergil's words echoed like an irreverent whisper inside a ruined temple—profane, intimate, provocative. He smiled at the crimson void that flickered around him, feeling the air vibrate like the strings of an instrument about to snap.

And then, the answer came.

ShhhRRAK!

In an instant, dozens of swords burst forth from the floor, the ceiling, the walls. Each one forged with Raphaeline's enchanted blood, shaped over centuries — lethal relics with a will of their own. They pierced Vergil's body without hesitation or mercy.

His chest, shoulders, arms, and even his thighs were pierced. Some swords still trembled, stuck deep as if searching for his heart.

Vergil gasped once, more out of reflex than actual pain. Blood dripped slowly from his mouth, but his eyes retained the same provocative gleam.

"...Yes. That's just like you," he murmured with a weak smile, spitting out a little blood as he leaned on one knee.

The air glowed. A dense scarlet trail descended from the ceiling, like a veil of crimson smoke condensing into a humanoid form—and then she appeared.

Raphaeline.

But not the same one as before.

Her body seemed sculpted from divine flesh, but it trembled with power she could barely contain. Her eyes shone like eternal rubies, without pupils, just absolute brilliance. Her hair, once a fiery red, now looked like liquid blood floating around her head like living tentacles.

Her presence was overwhelming. The embodiment of Blood. Of Will. Of Fury.

The silence that formed between the echoes of destruction was... devotional.

Vergil, kneeling among the swords embedded in his body, gasped slowly—not from pain, but from respect. He stared at her as if he were facing a star about to explode... or a goddess who had finally remembered her own name.

The woman he had met not long ago. The warrior, the tyrant, the collector. The mother of his wife. One of the most terrifyingly beautiful souls he had ever touched.

And now, before him, she was more than that. She was blood made flesh. Will crystallized into divinity.

Her hair floated with its own gravity, scarlet strands so dense they looked like water in suspension. Her eyes—oh, her eyes—were pure ruby light, bright and infinite, as if every drop of her blood had its own memories, stories of centuries, screams and oaths, passions and carnage.

Raphaeline did not speak yet.

She just floated in the air, naked as a dream and as terrifying as a nightmare. Her body changed slowly, taking on more... sensual forms. More detailed. More human and, at the same time, not human. As if the very lust of matter had sculpted curves where before there was only strength.

Vergil smiled—weakly, but sincerely.

"You are... beautiful," he said, blood dripping from the corners of his mouth, dripping between his teeth, staining the floor with a dark, noble red. "Frighteningly beautiful."

The swords trembled.

And then, like a living tide, the blood around him responded. The blades that pierced him dissolved into liquid mist. Then the mist thickened and moved—toward him.

Like arms, like tentacles, like passionate rivers, the blood enveloped him.

First slowly, caressing his skin, touching his wounds with a delicacy that bordered on tenderness. Then more firmly, with a possessiveness that allowed no escape. It was an embrace. Not of a predator, but of something... familiar.

A lover.

A child returning to the womb.

A devotee before the goddess.

Vergil's body floated off the ground, still enveloped in living blood, which now warmed like a beating heart.

Raphaeline descended gently, her feet still not touching the ground. Her body, now completely formed in a perfection that the gods would envy, approached slowly. Her curves were defined with each step in the air, her wide hips, her tapered waist, her full breasts that seemed formed from the purest desire and war. Her skin was pale as milk spilled in blood and emitted a subtle glow, as if her flesh were on the verge of igniting with vital energy.

Vergil did not look away.

"You surpass everything I've ever seen," he whispered. "Strength... beauty... madness. And yet... it's still you."

She came before him.

And then, without ceremony, without words, she embraced him.

The blood gave way, flowing like warm silk down his back. Raphaeline wrapped her arms around Vergil—her body—her soul. And she squeezed.

It was like being swallowed by a living star. There was heat. There was weight. There was smell. Blood, iron, sweat, and something else... something sweet. An aroma that did not exist in nature. Her essence. Raphaeline's.

She rested her face against his neck, breathing deeply, as if breathing for the first time after millennia of drowning.

"Thank you..." she whispered, her voice reverberating inside him like an echo in his bones. "...for giving me a reason to live."

Vergil swallowed hard.

That confession weighed more than any promise of love.

She squeezed him tighter, and he felt her heart—or whatever it was—beating against his chest. A strange sound, with several overlapping pulses. It was no longer human. Not even demonic. It was... something else.

"Without you..." she continued, her mouth close to his ear, her lips warm. "...I would have left this world behind to go and collect stupid swords. But you... you challenged me. You saw me. You wanted me. And then... you broke me. And now... you've rebuilt me."

The blood around them pulsed in waves, as if it were alive, happy, celebrating.

Vergil laughed weakly and rested his face on her shoulder. "You've always been wonderful chaos, Raphaeline. But now... now... how about you leave it at that and we stop destroying the entire cla?"

Her body still pulsed—not just with energy, but with raw emotion. As if her very existence was adjusting to the return. As if the reality around her struggled to keep up with her presence.

Then she let out a low laugh.

Not an explosive laugh, nor a threatening one—but a restrained, almost shy laugh, like someone laughing at something they can't explain. The sound reverberated like bells dipped in mulled wine.

She moved slightly away from Vergil, her arms still around him, but with room to look him in the eyes. Her eyes—red as a blood eclipse—analyzed every detail of his face. There was tenderness there. Something that few, if any, had ever seen in that woman's expression.

"...Vergil," she murmured, the name like a prayer in flames. "You really are a bastard. You ruined the mood."

He raised an eyebrow, still floating, still partially enveloped by tentacles of blood that were slowly dissolving into red vapor. "I've been told that before... but it's nicer to hear it from you."

"You make me want to live," she said, serious now. "And that is... unacceptable."

His smile widened. "Are you going to kill me for that?"

Raphaeline tilted her head. "If I killed you, I'd have to bring you back." She sighed, as if the weight of millennia was trying to rest on her shoulders and find space.

She began to bring all the blood back into her body. "We need to talk about this," she said after her appearance had returned to normal.

Her dark hair, her eyes, her clothes, everything returned to where it had been, and that bloody transformation disappeared.