My Wives are Beautiful Demons

"Hm?" Ada woke up with a slight start, her eyes opening slowly as the distant sound of explosions reverberated off the walls.

For a moment, she didn't understand. The room was still warm, the light soft, the sheets around her rumpled. The world seemed safe.

But then another explosion shook the floor beneath her bed slightly.

She frowned, trying to sit up—and that's when she felt it. "...Ah," she murmured, bringing her hand to her ribs.

Every muscle ached. As if she had run a marathon on a battlefield in full armor... carrying a statue.

She turned slowly, muttering under her breath, but when she tried to move her hip, a sharp, pinpoint pain shot through her base like a hot dagger.

"Why... why does my hip hurt so much...?" she murmured, exhausted — and then froze.

The memory came with the cruel clarity of a flash: her arching her back, trapped between the sheets, Vergil's hands on her waist, his hoarse voice in her ear... nine days.

"Ah." She buried her face in the pillow for a moment. "Damn it."

She tried to turn on her side, change position — and a new twinge shot through her inner thigh. "My... is that hurting too?!"

She stopped again.

She remembered the screams. The moans. The way she almost lost her voice from moaning and screaming for her husband's cock. The wall banging. The headboard breaking. A specific moment when he hit the right spot and her uterus was almost completely destroyed...

Ada lay completely still for a few seconds, her face still buried in the pillow.

Then she let out a muffled sound that was half laughter, half moan of pure exhaustion.

"...I need painkillers. And physical therapy. And maybe... someone to listen to all this without judging me. How many days has it been? Ten? Twelve? I've lost track. My God... I'm a pervert. A huge pervert! I dressed up as a bunny for him!"

She tried to move and immediately regretted it. A discreet crack in her spine, followed by an uncomfortable pain in her hip, made her whole body protest.

"I'm definitely going to die... I'd better heal myself with blood acceleration..."

Another explosion shook the structure of the house. A dull thud followed by the sound of shattering glass and thunder that didn't come from the sky. A piece of plaster from the ceiling came loose, falling next to the bed.

Ada blinked.

"...What the hell is going on down there?" she muttered hoarsely, pulling the sheet up to her chin as if it would protect her from angry goddesses, magical battles, or any other mythological apocalypse that had chosen to break out right after the best (and most destructive) sex of her life.

Ada closed her eyes for a second, took a deep breath... and concentrated.

The familiar heat ran through her body like a thread of liquid electricity, activating the technique Vergil had taught her—and which she herself had perfected. Blood acceleration.

Her heart responded promptly to the command, slightly increasing its rhythm. Blood began to circulate more intensely, directed with pinpoint accuracy to every tense muscle, every stretched ligament, every bruise hidden beneath the skin. Cells divided faster, inflammation receded, pain disappeared like mist in the sun. Bones snapped back into place. Tendons and muscle fibers were restored with almost alchemical efficiency.

The pain in his hip disappeared first.

Then the burning in his groin, the scratches on his shoulders, the tension in his back.

And finally, the fatigue.

When she opened her eyes again, the world looked different. Sharper. As if everything—including her—were in high definition.

"Four hours of sleep… and I feel like I've slept for a whole week," she murmured, surprised by her own steady voice, without the hoarseness of minutes ago.

She sat up in bed at once, naked, but without hesitation. She was perfectly healed. Her muscles responded with precision, her body light as if she had just stepped out of a cold, restorative bath.

She looked at the mirror in the bedroom—her hair a little messy, her skin flushed, and her gaze still slightly surprised.

"...Okay, this is... insane. This technique is the best dating gift anyone has ever given me... Well, I never dated, I just got married against my will... but if it was really good, I have to thank Katharina's stupidity."

Another explosion shook the house, this time with enough force to make the window glass vibrate.

Ada got up, tied the sheet around her body, and walked to the wall, pressing her ear against it. She heard voices in the distance. Fighting. Two women screaming... insults, threats. Sounds of blows and magic exploding in sequence.

She frowned and approached the window, pushing the curtain slightly. The sound of something crashing through a concrete structure made the glass rattle.

Outside, amid the destruction of the garden, she saw it.

Sapphire flying.

Literally flying—thrown as if she weighed no more than a pillow. Her body described a clumsy arc in the air before colliding with the trunk of a tree, which cracked on impact. Before she even fell, the figure of the unknown woman advanced, grabbed Sapphire by the ankle as if holding a shopping bag, and smashed her against the ground.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Dirt, grass, and rocks flew everywhere.

Ada stood frozen for a second, her eyes wide.

"...That was the Hulk beating up Loki..." she muttered, her mouth half open. "Like... scene for scene. Fuck."

The mysterious woman lifted Sapphire up again, now smiling as if she was enjoying herself.

Ada took a step back from the window.

"Okay. It's official. I woke up too early for this." She pulled Vergil's shirt closer to her body, glanced to the side, and muttered, "Wow... I've been talking too much lately."

Ada descended the wooden steps with careful steps, the sheet clinging tightly to her body, Vergil's shirt on top swaying slightly with each step. The muffled sound of combat outside continued—magical explosions, screams, the dry echo of absurd impacts. But now there was a rhythm. A violent choreography that only those who had been in battle recognized.

When she reached the middle of the stairs, she stopped instinctively.

The room... or what was left of it... was in chaos.

Part of the ceiling had collapsed near the fireplace. A huge hole took up the center of the main wall, exposing the room directly to the garden as if someone had launched a goddess missile through it. Shards of glass and wood covered the furniture, the white sofa was overturned, and half of the rug had caught fire and been extinguished with what appeared to be... beer?

Ada wrinkled her nose. It was definitely beer.

Next to the hole, like two marble statues amid the destruction, stood Vergil and Sepphirothy.

Vergil stood with his arms crossed, his hair messy, his bare chest visible under his open shirt—he looked like the same man who, just a few hours ago, had... physically exhausted her. But now his expression was neutral, almost bored. Only a slightly arched eyebrow indicated that he was, in fact, paying attention to the spectacle.

Sepphirothy, beside him, held a cup of tea in his hands. Yes, tea. As if all this were a Sunday morning theatrical performance. His white robe was still immaculate, his golden eyes fixed on the scene outside with a curious gleam.

Ada approached silently, but Vergil sensed her before she spoke. He turned his face slightly, just enough to see her out of the corner of his eye.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, his voice dry but laden with sarcasm and—perhaps—a trace of pride.

"Four hours," she replied, stopping beside him. "I woke up to the sound of explosions. And, uh... well, a lot of pain..."

Sepphirothy just smiled slightly without taking his eyes off the fight.

"What's going on here?" Ada asked, glancing briefly at the destruction.

"Sapphire is getting beaten up by the goddess of death and war, Morrigan. Celtic." Sepphirothy said calmly, "They'll stop soon."

"Ah... right." Ada said, and Vergil hugged her from the side, "Let's just watch."