My Wives are Beautiful Demons - Chapter 636

Capítulo 636: Harmonizing all your powers;

Vergil sat in the exact center of the training field—a vast, silent space, delimited by black columns made of polished obsidian that reflected the light like blades. The ground was covered in a thin layer of silvery dust, the result of countless energy explosions from previous training sessions. Above him, the artificial sky created inside the mansion oscillated between shades of deep blue and twilight purple, always reacting to the emotional state of the one training there.

He took a deep breath.

Then, a deeper one.

And finally, he crossed his legs in the lotus position, raising his hands with palms facing upwards, fingers relaxed and eyes almost closed.

It was time to align everything.

Everything.

Not just his powers.

But the forces that lived within him like proud beasts, each demanding to be dominant.

It was easy to fight using everything chaotically.

It was simple to unleash the violence.

Difficult… was controlling it.

It was difficult to harmonize forces that were born never to coexist.

A breath of wind crossed the field, blowing his white hair back.

The first energy to awaken was the most silent.

The Authority of Death.

A presence that made no noise, did not burn, did not pulse.

It simply existed.

A ring as black as empty space opened behind him, with white fractals of light bursting and disappearing like dead stars. Each breath made the air heavier, slower, more aware that it was in a space that did not belong to the living.

Vergil felt the cold spiral run down his spine.

“Do not dominate,” he murmured to himself. “Balance.”

The Authority of Death reacted.

It accepted.

It leaned back like a cloak, not like a scythe.

The second energy awakened almost immediately, as if envious of the first’s calm.

The flame of Clan Agares. She burst forth with a crack—VRAAAM—like sparks escaping from a volcano. Cobalt-blue flames engulfed her right arm, pulsing with a raw, masculine, explosive, burning force.

Vergil maintained his motionless posture, allowing the heat to rise without consuming him.

He inhaled deeply, bringing the flames close to his center.

And as he exhaled, the flame molded itself… obeyed… stabilized.

The air rippled around him.

But much more was needed.

As if answering a silent call, two majestic forces rose up behind him.

Two draconic presences.

Crymsaria.

Nivara.

Crymsaria’s energy arrived first—hot, aggressive, like live embers trapped beneath her skin. Red, scarlet, pulsating. Her left arm was enveloped in sparks that looked like liquid blood evaporating into fire.

An emotional, impulsive, proud heat.

Soon after came the force of Nivara—cold, elegant, cutting like crystallized snow under moonlight. A silvery aura covered his nape, descending down his spine to his legs. It was so cold it burned.

Fire and Ice.

Impulse and Control.

Fury and Serenity.

The two energies faced each other within him, like two dragons waiting for a reason to fight.

Vergil, seated, breathed.

He inhaled the scarlet.

He exhaled the platinum.

And both… yielded.

A perfect sphere of white light appeared between his hands.

But that wasn’t all.

From the ground, as if the soil breathed, a spiraling dance emerged.

The winds of the Sitri Clan.

They were mischievous, unpredictable, almost smiling. They didn’t burn, they didn’t freeze, they didn’t destroy. They cut smoothly, like paper knives. They were dangerous because they were untamable.

The wind lifted his hair.

It moved his training robe.

And then it swirled, circling his entire body, whispering like a restless child.

Vergil narrowed his eyes.

“Obey.”

And the winds obeyed—forming an organized, elegant whirlwind that seemed to dance around his aura.

Finally, the oldest energy within him awakened.

The most visceral.

The most primal.

The blood manipulation of the Baal Clan.

It wasn’t an aura.

It wasn’t a draconic form.

It wasn’t authority.

It was life.

And death.

It was the liquid that ran in the veins of everything that existed.

The blood within Vergil boiled.

Not with pain—but with power.

He felt each heartbeat with absurd clarity, like a war drum from the beginning of time. The blood responded, molding itself, running, circulating along paths he himself created.

And then—with the slightest gesture of his finger—the blood calmed.

It returned to its natural flow.

Balance was near.

But that still didn’t mean it was easy.

His whole body trembled—not from weakness, but from the colossal effort of keeping so many different energies coexisting without colliding like warring stars.

Vergil opened his eyes.

The training field was illuminated by six distinct energies.

Each pulsed at its own rhythm.

Each wanted to dominate.

And he… was the center of them all.

“The Celestial Tournament…” he murmured, his deep voice echoing between the columns. “It will not be won by the strongest. It will be won by the most control.”

He raised his hands.

The sphere of white energy grew in size.

Death pulsed in his shoulder.

The Agares fire roared in his arm.

Crymsaria burned his blood.

Nivara froze his breath.

The Sitri wind swirled like a predator.

The Baal blood pulsed like an external heart.

Vergil felt it all.

And then—he unified it all.

A small point of light appeared in the center of his hands.

Tiny.

Perfect.

A point that contained all the forces of his being.

When he opened his eyes fully, they shone like two blue stars.

“Again,” he said.

And he began again.

Because Vergil wasn’t training to fight.

He was training to win.

And in the Celestial Tournament… Fractions of control were worth more than mountains of power.

And he would accept nothing less than perfection.

Vergil remained silent, breathing deeply and rhythmically. The world around him faded like ink washed away by rain. The only thing that existed was the constant pulse of his powers—each one so vast, so fierce, and so ancient that anyone with less control would be torn apart from the inside.

He sank deeper into himself, like one descending through layers of infinite seas.

First came the Authority of Death.

A sublime, silent, serene cold that sought not to destroy, but simply to end. Itharine’s presence echoed there, majestic and distant, like a crown made of twilight. The energy settled around him like an inescapable cloak.

Then, the flame of the Agares ignited, hot, burning, aggressive, reminding him of the roar of hell and the blood of ancient kings. A force that yearned for combat—but Vergil kept it contained, shaping it with precision.

Next, the Crimson energy of Crymsaria, wilder than fire, more destructive than war. Something alive, serpentine, that constantly proved itself worthy of its empress. Its touch burned more than heat: it was pure ambition, a heart that never yielded.

And then, the Cold Aura of Nivara, sharp, limpid, with the precision of a divine blade. A power that brought the sensation of altitude, of rarefied air, of silvery realms where perfection was law. Its coldness was not empty—it was majesty.

Next, he touched the energy of the winds of Sitri, unpredictable, flexible, free as a dance without choreography. It swirled around his aura like a whirlwind of possibilities, light and yet deadly.

Finally, came the heavy, intense pulse of the Baal’s blood manipulation—something that vibrated directly at the core of his being, primal and absolute. The blood responded, the living universe within him moved, flowed, obeyed. The force that commanded life and death… and that had always demanded respect.

Vergil felt it all.

And then he tried to harmonize it all.

It was like trying to make six storms sing on the same note.

His body trembled.

The ground beneath him vibrated.

The meditation demanded pressure. It demanded focus. It demanded the kind of discipline that even demon kings considered unbearable.

And then Vergil opened his aura.

First a circle.

Then a sphere.

Then… something indescribably larger.

The energy spread like silent shockwaves, ripping dust from the air and making the physical plane tremble.

The aura extended beyond the arena.

Beyond the palace.

Beyond the gates of Abaddon.

And… it continued.

Vergil didn’t realize how far he was going.

He was completely absorbed in the process.

The mixed colors—red, platinum, black, scarlet, gold, and the deep blue of death—expanded like a sun swallowing horizons.

He felt his consciousness pierce the walls of the capital.

He felt the fear of the demons, their souls shrinking as if death itself were walking on their rooftops.

He felt the power columns of the demon lords vibrate like strings about to snap.

He felt thousands of eyes turn toward the palace in utter terror.

And when he realized it, he had already extended his senses to his isolated territory, that sacred space he kept far from the other kingdoms, where only his family, his personal guard, and his secrets trod.

“— Hmph.”

His voice echoed only within himself, laden with contained surprise.

“I didn’t expect so much… in so little time.”

He continued expanding—not out of arrogance, but out of understanding the limits and breaking them.

More.

More.

More—

It was then that he heard the voice.

Not just any voice.

A warm, firm, angry, and absurdly familiar voice.

“VERGIL!”

The meditation cracked inside like glass breaking.

The aura receded half a meter.

Sapphire continued, now outside the arena, arms crossed, hair ablaze, and an expression bordering on despair:

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU JUST DID?!”

Vergil breathed, slowly opening his eyes.

The energy still vibrated around him, but it was beginning to recede like obedient oceans pulling at the moon’s tug.

Sapphire took a step forward, snorting fire—literally.

“You expanded your aura like an ABSOLUTE MANIAC! The entire capital panicked! And if you keep up this charade, the FOUR ARCHONS will show up here wanting to know if a war has started!”

Vergil tilted his head slightly.

“…It wasn’t my intention to alarm them.”

Sapphire pointed at him with her flaming finger:

“You expanded your aura across ALMOST half the demon realm, Vergil!”

“…It was a range test.”

“YOU WANT THEM TO KILL YOU?!”

Vergil raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused—and even a little offended.

“I doubt they could.”

Sapphire took a deep breath, clenched her fists, bit her lip to stifle a scream—and only then did she blurt out:

“That’s not the point! The point is… they thought you were going to attack all of Abaddon! Demons fainted just from sensing your presence!”

Vergil blinked, as if calculating internal statistics.

“…Interesting.”

“VERGIL!”