My Wives are Beautiful Demons

"Sleep well," Vergil murmured, gently kissing Ada's forehead. Her breathing was already slow and deep—her body finally surrendering. She had reached her limit, yet she remained steadfast until the end.

During all that time with him... nine days that defied any standard of exhaustion... Ada had perfectly utilized the technique he himself had shared with her and Raphaeline. Blood acceleration, an almost alchemical control of the body, which optimized every cell, every heartbeat through the blood.

But Ada went further. She didn't just master the technique, she transformed it. She created her own variation, focused on conserving energy and increasing endurance. The result was... surprising even for someone like Vergil.

Nine days.

Intense.

Exhausting.

Unforgettable.

Vergil stretched, his tense muscles relaxing with the discreet crackling of his joints. His eyes briefly scanned the room—the cozy dim light, the rumpled sheets, the sleeping body of one of the most beautiful women in the world in his eyes... and well, he was very happy to see her satisfied after so much... debauchery.

But he knew: there was still work to be done.

The energy he felt... persisted.

Cold, ancient, impatient.

It came from below. From the ground floor.

She was still there.

The woman with the scent of death and golden eyes.

Vergil let out a long, drawn-out sigh, running his fingers through his now completely dry hair. His gaze met his distant reflection in the mirror, and he frowned when he saw his own exhausted expression and violet eyes shining in the dim light.

"This shit... I look like Madara," he muttered to himself, humorlessly. He tilted his head, analyzing his own reflection. "Not even to get a Rinnegan as a bonus."

He sighed again, deeper this time, and then spoke in a low voice, as if calling something that lives between worlds.

"Itharine."

A black shadow detached itself from the air, materializing on his shoulder in the form of a small chibi dragon with bright eyes. She floated lightly, her wings flapping with silent elegance.

"Who's down there?" he asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to confirm it.

Itharine spun in the air, like a lazy ballerina, and then replied in her slightly high-pitched voice:

"Hmm... intermediate level concentration of Death energy, with ancient remnants of War power and something of... Fertility, I think. That sounds like Morrigan to me. Celtic goddess, eccentric. In myths, she is said to be the Lady of Death, War, and yes, also Fertility... but you know how humans are: they turn gods into cheap archetypes."

Vergil raised an eyebrow.

"How strong?"

"Officially, she must be the third most powerful figure in the Celtic pantheon. She ranks behind Lugh—sun god, master of a thousand skills—and Dagda, the Father of the Gods. But... honestly?" Itharine shrugged, spinning in the air. "It depends on the day and her mood. And how many glasses of wine she's had."

At that moment, another presence appeared—small, but opinionated.

"I don't like her," Fenrhaem growled, manifesting himself beside Itharine in the form of a tiny, floating wolf with bristling fur.

"Her scent is stronger than the master's. My nose is irritated."

Vergil narrowed his eyes at him.

"You don't even have a nose."

"Spiritual metaphor," muttered the wolf.

"Stupid metaphor," Vergil replied, already walking away toward the door, pulling a dark shirt over his shoulder.

Itharine landed on his other shoulder and asked, "What are you going to do?"

"Dismiss her." He opened the door. "She wants sapphire, it's been three hours."

The two floating creatures—Itharine and Fenrhaem—looked at each other, knowing it was time to return to the darkness. With an almost imperceptible gesture from Vergil, the two dissolved into the air, flowing like black smoke until they disappeared into their own shadow, where they lived between heartbeats and silent sighs.

Vergil descended the stairs with lazy but heavy steps. Each step seemed to emit a slight creak that echoed through the silent house, the kind of silence that only existed when something old and uncomfortable insisted on waiting.

When he turned the corner and crossed the threshold of the living room, he stopped.

There she was.

Morrigan.

Lying languidly on the sofa, one leg crossed over the backrest, a bottle of beer in her hand—the third, at least—and a half-empty crate beside her.

On TV? Soccer. Some random European game. Probably Germany against some Baltic country. Morrigan seemed absorbed, cheering for a team wearing black and red as if she were a die-hard fan.

"...You've got to be kidding me," Vergil said, stopping with his arms crossed in the doorway.

Morrigan turned her face slowly, as if she had just remembered that there were other people in the world besides the players on the field.

"Oh, look," she said with a lazy, mocking smile. "You took your time."

Vergil looked at the crate, then at her.

"Why are you still here?"

"Because you told me to do whatever I wanted," she replied, shrugging. "And I wanted this. Beer, couch, and football. You have good streaming service, by the way. I thought it was going to be nothing but torture and ghosts."

"That was a figure of speech," he said, seriously. "The 'do whatever you want' was like... I don't know, walk around in the shadows, start a war, delay the end of the world... but this?" He pointed to the whole scene. "This is desecration of a residence."

Morrigan took another sip, smacked her lips, and smiled.

"You need to learn to be more specific, sweetie."

"What about the beers?"

"They were in the fridge. The first thing I learned in the modern realms: never ask, just open."

Vergil closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath as if pondering whether it was really worth living another day.

"You said you wanted to talk to Sapphire. It's been three hours."

"Yeah. And she still hasn't shown up." Morrigan snapped her fingers, and another bottle flew into her hand as if by magic. "I'm getting bored. Another hour and I'll summon my ravens and start a war."

Vergil's face turned completely red... He sighed nervously and picked up his cell phone.

He selected Sapphire's contact...

"There's a woman named Morrigan looking for you here. Come quickly. She's bothering me."