My Wives are Beautiful Demons - Chapter 639

Capítulo 639: Make me a Scythe.

Fafnir stared at the two as if he were facing the worst nightmare a millennia-old dragon could imagine: the devastating combination of shame, ancient humiliation, and a demonic couple with zero patience for draconic pride.

The roar he let out next didn’t come from his throat—it came from his soul.

Low, deep, laden with an ancient hatred that could melt continents.

“YOU… YOU TWO…!”

But that was all he could manage to articulate.

Vergil crossed his arms, looking at the dragon with the same expression one would have when watching a petulant child being forced to do their homework.

Sapphire merely clicked her tongue.

“Fafnir, just go. You know you must.”

The dragon snorted so hard that the hot wind pushed Vergil two steps back.

The ground trembled.

The magma behind him rose as if fleeing from draconic anger.

“YOU ARE INSUFFERABLE—” he began, but another sharp look from Sapphire cut him off mid-sentence.

“Fafnir.”

Three syllables.

Pure authority.

Threat and affection blended so masterfully that even a dragon had to respect him.

Fafnir growled—a trembling growl of pure resignation.

“ARRRGH, DAMN IT—!!”

He opened his colossal mouth.

The tusks rose like gleaming white columns—each one worth the treasure of an entire nation.

Vergil even recoiled half an inch.

That was the kind of jaw that could chew titans.

Then Fafnir wedged one of his own claws between his teeth.

Vergil’s eyes widened.

“…He won’t—”

CRACK.

The sound echoed throughout the entire cave. A dry, grotesque crack, so loud it split the ground beneath them.

The dragon roared, not in pain—but in pure fury at doing something so humiliating.

And then…

He ripped out his own tooth.

Ripped it out.

With his claw.

Right in front of them.

Vergil put his hand to his mouth, surprised.

Sapphire smiled like someone who had won a game only she knew she was playing.

Fafnir raised the ripped-out tooth—a colossus of golden ivory the size of a tree trunk—and threw it at Sapphire’s feet like someone throwing trash away.

The impact opened a crater in the ground.

“DONE!” roared the dragon, snorting sparks. “THERE IT IS! NOW GET OUT OF MY LAIR! GO AWAY! GET OUT BEFORE I—!”

Sapphire raised two fingers, interrupting him with the nonchalance of someone telling a hyperactive dog to sit.

“Calm down, damn it.”

Vergil rubbed his nose to stifle a laugh.

Fafnir seemed to freeze.

Wide eyes.

Rigid tail.

Absolute indignation.

“C-CALM DOWN?! YOU MADE ME PULL OUT A TOOTH—!”

“And it’s not over yet,” she said, pointing to the gigantic tooth.

Fafnir blinked, confused.

“…What?”

Sapphire tilted her head and said the phrase with the most insolent tranquility in the universe:

“Spill blood there.”

The silence was so absolute that even the magma behind them stopped bubbling.

Fafnir stared at her.

Then Vergil.

Then the tooth.

Then the claw itself—which still glistened with a wisp of its own draconic blood.

“YOU WANT ME TO—”

“Yes,” Sapphire replied before he could even finish.

“Bathe the tooth in your blood. You know the forge needs it.”

Vergil, ever observant, added:

“If you don’t, it won’t withstand the heat of the final weapon.”

Fafnir looked at the two as if he’d rather swallow a supernova than admit they were right.

His pride trembled.

His soul trembled.

The whole mountain trembled.

And then…

He simply tilted his head back and let out the longest, most agonized, most dramatically exaggerated roar Vergil had ever heard in his life.

“BY ALL THE NORNS, BY ALL THE RUNES, BY ALL THE MISERY OF ASGARD—WHY DID I ACCEPT THIS DEBT?!”

Sapphire smiled.

“Because I saved you from becoming a Norse skewer.”

Fafnir snorted smoke through his nostrils.

And then, finally, with a deep growl, he pressed a claw against his colossal chest.

A thin crack opened the scale.

A gigantic drop—thicker than lava, brighter than gold—fell onto the severed tooth.

The tooth began to smoke, turning a vivid red.

Vergil watched with genuine fascination.

Fafnir, muttering:

“…I hate you…”

Sapphire:

“We love you too, little Fafnir.”

Vergil had to turn his face away to hide his laughter.

And the defeated dragon simply buried its head in its own nest of magma, muttering ancient curses while the golden blood continued to cover the tooth.

Sapphire emerged from the cave as if she had just finished shopping at the market—except for the utterly absurd detail that she was carrying, casually resting on her forearm, a dragon tooth the size of her own body, still pulsing with the warm glow of Fafnir’s blood.

Vergil followed, stunned, watching the colossally vibrating tooth with pure draconic energy. Each step Sapphire took left small luminous trails of heat in the air, as if the object were trying to set the surrounding space ablaze.

In the background, Fafnir continued to mutter inside the mountain:

“I HATE YOU ALL! I HATE ALL OF EXISTENCE! DAMNED DEMON—!!”

Sapphire raised her hand and shouted:

“We’ll be back next month!”

“DON’T COME BACK!”

Vergil chuckled softly.

When they were far from the lair entrance, Sapphire jumped from a high rock and landed before him, her tooth balanced on her shoulder like a wooden stick.

She patted the side of her tooth, completely satisfied.

“There. Now comes the fun part.”

Vergil raised an eyebrow.

“Fun?”

Sapphire twirled her finger, pointing to the sky.

“We’re going somewhere far away now. So… try to keep up.”

Vergil crossed his arms, skeptical.

“And where exactly are we going?”

She grinned, her teeth displaying a dangerous excitement.

“Now that we have what will become the blade…” She raised her tooth, the draconic aura radiating like a warm wave.

“…we need a blacksmith.”

Vergil snorted.

“A blacksmith who can work this thing? It can’t be just anyone.”

Sapphire shook her head.

“Not one. Two.”

Vergil blinked.

“Two blacksmiths…?”

“Yes.”

Her smile grew even more mischievous, almost predatory.

“One who understands the material. Another who understands the wielder.”

Vergil opened his mouth to ask, but Sapphire had already turned, taking flight with such force that the compressed wind exploded the ground beneath them.

She shot into the sky at supersonic speed, leaving a shimmering blue trail of her Divine Artifact Aura.

Vergil stood there for a split second, feeling the air vibrate around him…

And then he smirked.

“Two blacksmiths, huh?”

He flexed his demonic wings and launched himself after her, tearing through the sky in a purple lightning bolt.

Sapphire shouted from ahead, her voice echoing through the wind:

“COME ON, VERGIL!”

…

The forge hidden in the heart of Vanaheim’s eternal forests pulsed with a life of its own.

Ancient flames crackled in shades of blue and gold, fueled not only by coal or ordinary magic, but by ancestral runes etched into the stone, alive, breathing between the fissures.

Hammer blows echoed repeatedly, angry, rhythmic like insults hurled against metal.

BROKK brought his arm down for the thousandth time, the impact sending sparks that illuminated his blue, grumpy face.

SINDRI, cleaner than any dwarf had a right to be, raised his hands in a gesture of organized despair.

“BROKK! I ALREADY TOLD YOU — THE GIANT DOESN’T NEED THE AXE TO GO BACK TO HER HAND! She’s NOT Thor! It’s not like she’s going to lose her weapon every time she attacks!”

Brokk turned his head, spitting a mixture of irritation and smoke onto the ground.

“AND I ALREADY TOLD YOU, YOU PERFUMED DEVIL, THAT EVERY AXE IS BETTER IF IT CAN GO BACK TO ITS OWNER’S HAND! IT’S ADVANCED TECHNOLOGY, DAMN IT! WHY WOULDN’T WE USE IT?!”

Sindri pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath.

“Because it’s not necessary, Brokk. Besides, IMAGINE the weight of the additional runes. The giantess asked for lightness, remember? Lightness. You know? The feeling of not carrying a FUCKING ROCK?!”

“AND WHO CARES ABOUT HER REQUEST?!” Brokk retorted, already throwing the newly forged axe onto a pile of other rejected weapons. “SHE WILL RECEIVE WHAT IS BEST, NOT WHAT SHE THINKS SHE NEEDS!”

Sindri narrowed his eyes.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re a wimp, an exaggerator and—”

A brutal tremor cut through the discussion.

It wasn’t a simple ground shake.

It was as if the earth had decided it was tired and resolved to stretch its tectonic plates.

The tools vibrated.

The anvil slid three centimeters.

The ceiling sighed dust.

The two dwarves froze. Brokk was the first to curse.

“Oh, NO. I know exactly what that is. It’s ALWAYS this kind of idiotic trembling when that damn… that person shows up.”

Sindri swallowed hard.

“Please tell me it’s not HER again. I just cleaned the forge! And she always— always brings trouble, Brokk!”

Another tremor.

This time accompanied by a blue flash that pierced every fissure in the rock, like lightning snaking through the subsoil.

Sindri paled even further.

“No.”

Brokk picked up his battlehammer.

“Yes.”

“No!”

“YES!”

And before another protest could arise, a reddish shadow passed through the forge door.

The two stepped outside—and there, standing before them, was hell personified.

A red-haired woman, her hair falling like living flames, casually held a colossal tooth in her arm—as large as she was, heavy enough to crush any dwarf, emitting a draconic heat so intense that even the air seemed to bend around it.

Her skin glowed with a dangerous vitality.

Her eyes, deep and sharp as blades made of thundering sky, stared at them with a mixture of familiarity and defiance.

SAPPHIRE.

The Demon Queen.

The dwarves had seen many horrors in the centuries they had existed.

But Sapphire never came lightly.

And, as if her presence wasn’t already devastating enough, a second impact cracked the ground when VERGIL landed beside her—demonic wings dissipating into energy, white hair fluttering, icy blue eyes analyzing the surroundings as if assessing new territory.

Brokk ran a hand over his face—a hand dirty with soot that only left more mud on the blue of his skin.

“Ah, by Odin’s hammer…” he murmured, exhausted.

And then he shouted:

“GET OUT OF HERE, YOU FUCKING DEMONIC BITCH! NO ONE CALLED YOU HERE!”

Sapphire smiled.

A sweet, provocative smile that would send any sane person running three kingdoms away.

“Brokk! What a warm welcome. I missed you too.”

Sindri took a step back.

Brokk snorted, completely immune to her infernal charm.

“YOU ALWAYS BRING WEIRD WORK, CONFUSION, AND… and—MAGICAL WHORING to my region!”

Vergil raised an eyebrow, biting his tongue to keep from laughing.

“Why do you always assume it’s whoring?” Sapphire asked, playfully offended.

“Because it’s YOU!” Brokk retorted immediately. “AND I SEE YOUR AURA, QUEEN. It screams ‘I’m going to screw someone over today!'”

Sindri nodded shyly.

“Technically… it does scream.”

Vergil coughed, trying to contain his laughter.

Sapphire completely ignored the dwarves’ drama and simply lifted the giant tooth, placing it on the ground with a THUMP that made the ground tremble.

Brokk’s eyes widened.

“WHAT THE HELL—this is…this is…”

“Seriously, you don’t recognize it?” Sapphire crossed her arms.

Sindri approached, special glasses magically appearing in his hands. He examined the tooth, each natural rune, each living crack, each breath of draconic mana.

And then it turned white—whiter than a dwarf should be.

“Brokk…” he whispered.

His brother, who had been approaching with an irritated look, stopped immediately upon seeing his expression.

“…my brother. This…this is a TOOTH OF FAFNIR.”

Silence fell like an anvil on everyone’s heads.

Brokk blinked.

He stepped again.

“One… of… FAFNIR?!”

Sapphire snapped her fingers, satisfied.

“Finally, one of you realized.”

Brokk ran a hand over his face as if trying to calculate the magnitude of the trouble—and failed.

“YOU STOLE A TOOTH FROM THE MOST SON OF A BITCH DRAGON IN THE ENTIRE NORTH?!”

“I didn’t steal it.” Sapphire corrected. “I collected it.”

Sindri almost fainted.

“COLLABORATE?? COLLECTED FROM FAFNIR??? YOU— MY GOD— YOU MADE A NEW DEAL WITH HIM? OR— OR——”

“No. An old man.” Sapphire said simply. “He only owed me.”

Brokk opened and closed his mouth several times.

“And you want… what? With that thing? To build a building? To beat Jörmungandr? To ride a reverse dragon??”

Vergil finally stepped forward.

“She wants a weapon.”

Sindri looked at him as if Vergil had just announced the death of the universe.

“A— A WEAPON?! THAT’S TOO MUCH MATERIAL FOR A WEAPON! THAT IS— THAT IS—”

“Perfect,” Sapphire finished. “And I want you two to forge it.”

Brokk immediately made a face like he wanted to throw the hammer at her head.

“NO. NO! NO FUCKING WAY! I HAVE TO FINISH THE GIANT’S AXE AND—”

“I’ll pay,” Sapphire said.

Brokk froze.

Sindri froze.

The dwarves exchanged glances.

Sapphire smiled.

Vergil watched silently—fascinated by the implicit dance of power, history, and controlled chaos.

Brokk scratched his chin.

“…How much do you pay?”

Sapphire leaned in, whispering something.

The two dwarves stood motionless.

Sindri let out a sound that resembled a squeak.

Brokk’s eyes widened so much he looked like he was about to swallow his own eyebrows.

“Done.” Brokk said immediately.

“Done!” Sindri repeated, almost hysterically.

“Great,” Sapphire smiled, satisfied. “Make me a scythe.”