My Wives are Beautiful Demons - Chapter 645

Capítulo 645: Back to see a friend

Sapphire was the first to move.

She took a step forward, slightly distancing herself from Vergil, and cast one last glance at the scythe before turning her attention back to the two dwarves. Her expression was relaxed now—almost amused—as if the overwhelming tension of moments before had never existed.

“Well,” she said, crossing her arms casually. “Considering no one died, no dimension collapsed, and the forge is still standing… I think it’s fair to say your debt is paid.”

There was a second of silence.

Then Brokk exploded.

“PAID MY ASS!” he growled, pointing a greasy finger at her. “You show up here, bring some unfriendly-looking lunatic, make us forge something that SCREAMS LIKE A DEAD DRAGON, almost awaken an ancient evil in my forge, and now you think everything’s alright?!”

Sapphire merely raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

“Don’t come back here again, you wretch!” Brokk continued. “Neither you, nor your debts, nor your cursed ideas! If I hear your footsteps approaching again, I’ll shut down this forge and go live in a swamp!”

Sindri cleared his throat, carefully adjusting his glasses, trying—without much success—to bring some level of civility to the conversation.

“Well…,” he said, glancing nervously at the scythe still gently pulsing in Vergil’s hands. “If possible… we really ask that you don’t come collecting demonic debts anymore. Our insurance doesn’t cover sentient entities or weapons that choose owners.”

Sapphire finally laughed.

It wasn’t a loud laugh—it was light, sincere, almost warm. A laugh from someone who had expected exactly that reaction.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she replied, turning around. “I probably won’t be the one coming next time.”

Brokk froze.

Sindri blinked.

“…What’s that all about?” asked the tallest dwarf, swallowing hard.

Sapphire glanced over her shoulder, her smile laden with something indefinable—not a threat, but certainty.

“Debts change hands,” she said calmly. “And the world is… too busy.”

She then began to walk away, the sound of her footsteps mingling once more with the vibrant rhythm of the forge.

Vergil followed, still feeling the weight of Níðhögg in his hands.

Behind them, Brokk muttered something incomprehensible in ancient dwarf.

Sindri sighed.

“…I really hope ‘the next person’ isn’t worse.”

Brokk snorted.

“If it’s worse than her, I’m retiring.”

The forge returned to its usual chaos—hammers clanging, metal grinding, fire roaring—as if the world itself had decided to move on.

But something had changed. And everyone there knew it.

Sapphire stopped a few steps from the forge’s exit.

Without haste, she extended her hand and traced an ancient symbol in the air. The gesture was simple, almost lazy—yet the ground responded immediately. A magic circle opened beneath her feet, complex lines of arcane energy intertwining, pulsing in deep shades of blue and violet.

Vergil approached, resting Níðhögg on his shoulder as if the weight of that living weapon were already familiar to him. The scythe remained silent, satisfied.

He cast one last glance over his shoulder at the two dwarves.

“See you later, lads,” he said, chuckling softly, in a tone too light for someone who had just left with a weapon capable of traumatizing millennia-old blacksmiths.

Brokk responded with a curse word so creative it would probably still echo for weeks.

Sindri merely sighed, running a hand over his face.

“I hate when they say ‘see you later’,” he murmured.

The circle glowed with maximum intensity.

And then—

They disappeared.

The air closed in where they had been, leaving behind only the residual smell of magic and hot metal.

Silence.

Brokk broke it first.

“…Do you think they’ll come back?”

Sindri didn’t answer immediately.

“…I prefer not to think about it.”

The world reconstituted itself in the blink of an eye.

The cold wind was the first thing Vergil felt.

They were on top of Mount Hua, above the clouds, where the sky seemed closer and the world below reduced to a distant painting. The air was pure, sharp, charged with an ancient and serene energy—the kind of place where gods meditated and immortals trained.

Vergil adjusted the scythe on his shoulder and looked around.

“…Why are we here?” he asked, directly, without beating around the bush. Safira walked to the edge of the cliff, watching the clouds move slowly below them.

“Because I still need to speak with one more person,” she replied calmly.

Vergil frowned.

Before he could say anything—

A shadow passed over them.

Or rather… a presence.

Vergil felt it first. A familiar energy, irreverent, overwhelmingly powerful, and yet absurdly casual.

He looked up.

Upside down, floating in the air as if gravity were merely a suggestion, Wukong watched them.

Or rather…

she.

The goddess was perched on her flying cloud, her long golden hair falling freely, shimmering in the sunlight like strands of living gold. Her smile was mischievous, her eyes filled with that dangerous mixture of curiosity, defiance, and amusement.

She tilted her head—still upside down.

“It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other,” she said, assessing him without the slightest shame. “Hm… you’ve gotten stronger again.”

Vergil smiled at seeing her again.

Sapphire sighed, crossing her arms.

“Wukong. Return to monkey form.”

Wukong pouted exaggeratedly.

“Oh, come on…” She spun slowly in the air, still floating. “It’s better to be a woman in front of him.”

Sapphire gave her a deadly look.

Wukong smiled even wider.

Instinctively, Níðhögg vibrated slightly on her shoulder.

Wukong was the first to laugh.

Not a restrained or polite laugh—it was an open, clear laugh that echoed across the top of Mount Hua as if the sky itself found the situation amusing. She spun in the air once, still upside down, her golden hair swirling around her.

“Oh… that’s new,” she said, amused. “She really wants to attack me.”

Vergil narrowed his eyes for a moment.

He hadn’t made any move to raise his scythe, hadn’t gripped the handle, hadn’t unleashed any murderous intent. Still, Níðhögg vibrated on his shoulder, low, tense, hungry—like an animal that had sensed another predator invading its territory.

Sapphire noticed immediately.

“Vergil,” she warned, in a calm but attentive tone. “It’s not you.”

“I know,” he replied dryly. “She’s… reacting on her own.”

Wukong finally spun in the air and landed on the cloud, crossing his arms as he observed the scythe with almost childlike interest. His golden eyes gleamed.

“A weapon with Ego that growls at me without even being provoked?” She smiled broadly. “Brave. Or extremely ill-mannered.”

Níðhögg’s vibration intensified.

The air around the blade distorted slightly, as if reality itself were being squeezed. The dried blood in the grooves seemed to darken, the runes pulsing in an irregular, irritated rhythm.

Wukong arched an eyebrow.

“Ah.”

In a simple movement—almost too casual for someone of that magnitude—she extended her hand.

Clang.

The metallic sound echoed like a contained thunderclap.

The Ruyi Jingu Bang surged from her palm, instantly expanding to the perfect size for combat. The golden staff vibrated violently, emitting a deep, almost furious hum, as if awakened from a deep sleep.

The reaction was immediate.

Níðhögg responded.

The scythe vibrated with full force now, a low, menacing sound, like a muffled growl. The bone handle seemed to contract under Vergil’s hand, as if wanting to break free, to advance on its own.

The two weapons faced each other.

Not with eyes.

But with will.

The space between them became heavy, charged with primal tension. The wind at the mountaintop shifted direction, swirling in short eddies around the four of them. The clouds below stirred, rippling as if sensing the invisible friction between two consciousnesses too ancient to coexist in silence.

Vergil felt the impact first.

Not physical—mental.

A direct, clear pressure: a challenge.

Wukong felt it too.

Her smile widened.

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” she said, twirling the staff once with absolute ease. “He’s jealous.”

Sapphire closed her eyes for a brief second.

“You two…,” she murmured. “This isn’t an arena.”

The Ruyi Jingu Bang vibrated even more strongly, the sound now almost offended. As if disagreeing.

Wukong tilted her head, amused, observing Vergil’s scythe from head to toe.

“She’s insolent,” she commented, chuckling softly. “I like that. It doesn’t bend, it doesn’t hesitate… and it clearly doesn’t respect hierarchy.”

She tapped the staff lightly against the cloud beneath her feet.

“It reminds me of someone.”

Vergil didn’t answer. His focus was entirely on containing Níðhögg. Not with brute force—but with presence. With will. Slowly, he adjusted his posture, planted his feet firmly on the ground, and took a deep breath.

The vibration of the scythe diminished.

Not because it lost the desire to attack.

But because it recognized something greater: control.

Wukong observed this with genuine attention.

Then, finally, he spun the staff and made it shrink, resting it nonchalantly on his shoulder.

“Okay, okay,” she said, still smiling. “No fighting today.”

The weapons fell silent.

But the respect—tense, sharp, absolute—remained in the air.

Wukong leaned slightly forward, his golden eyes fixed on Vergil.

“You chose an interesting scythe,” he concluded. “Or… it chose you.”

Sapphire opened her eyes.

And sighed.

“Now that the toys have stopped measuring strength,” she said dryly, “can we finally talk like adults?”

Wukong laughed again.

“Ah, Sapphire… where would the fun be in that?”