My Wives are Beautiful Demons Chapter 283: Unexpected Encounter

The wind blew with the fury of the dead. The snow fell in heavy flakes, as if the sky wanted to bury the world in icy silence.

At the top of the mountain, surrounded by twisted pines and vertiginous cliffs, stood Dragamir Manor - a gothic abomination made of black stone, demonic stained glass windows and gargoyles with expressions that even the Devil would find exaggerated.

It was dayti. A rare cloudy day, where the sun barely seeped through the clouds, but still caused the eyes of the inhabitants of the place to twitch.

Vergil calmly climbed the last steps of the ice-covered path, his long black cloak waving in the wind. The footprints he left behind him evaporated seconds later, as if the world itself didn't have the heart to rember where he had been.

At the main entrance, two vampire guards were shivering with cold. Their red cloaks fluttered like the flags of a forgotten war, and their eyes protected by dark glasses - completely out of season - barely masked the discomfort of the daylight. Both wore wide, mismatched hats in a pathetic attempt to avoid the touch of the pale sun filtering through the clouds.

"Here cos another one," muttered the first guard, a short, chubby vampire with the slurred voice of soone who had given up on life - or death - centuries ago. "There are always these gothic tourists going up the mountain thinking they're going to beco vampires just by taking a selfie in front of the gate..."

"That one looks like a lunatic," replied the second, tall, skinny, with a Romanian accent so heavy it seed to spit out consonants. "I bet he reads Lovecraft in the bathroom and summons Cthulhu with mushroom tea. There should be a guided tour with a built-in death trap. It would solve the problem in no ti."

"This is going to be interesting..." thought Vergil.

He stopped in front of them, his presence as silent as it was oppressive. His hood covered part of his face, the snow piled lazily on his shoulders, and his eyes twinkled with a trace of barely contained amusent. The bored expression he had worn throughout the climb slowly began to crack, about to turn into sothing dangerous... or hilarious.

The fat man, feeling in control of the situation, took a step forward and raised his hand with exaggerated theatricality.

"Good morning, citizen. Are you aware that this is private territory? If you're here to take photos, sell encyclopedias or ask if we have ti to listen to the word of God, please co down the mountain imdiately and try not to slip to your death."

The thin man raised his spear with comic solemnity, the tal trembling between his gloved fingers.

"Or just say your na and the reason for your visit. And be quick about it. Today's brightness has already given three eye spasms and the beginnings of spontaneous combustion."

Vergil looked at them both. He just stared.

Inside, he was holding on with all his might not to burst out laughing loud enough to cause an avalanche. The way the two of them behaved... the absurd confidence... the pathetic theatrics... it was simply delicious.

He almost felt sorry.

"Great, it's a mysterious mute. Wonderful. I bet he also carries a grimoire and talks to the wind," snorted the fat man, crossing his arms as the snow piled up on the top of his hat like misplaced whipped cream.

"Wait... I know that face..." he said, frowning and looking up at the sky as if the clouds could bring him answers. "Where did I see it...?"

"It's probably nobody. Just a retard," said the skinny man dismissively, twirling the spear in his fingers as if it were a majorette's baton.

Vergil didn't move. He just stared at them.

"Gentlen," he said calmly, like soone explaining to a waiter that his order was wrong. "I'll kill you both if you don't let through. Okay? I have business with your boss."

"Be quiet, I'm thinking!" the fat man shouted, now with a vein pulsating on his forehead, which was a curious feat for soone who was technically dead.

Vergil sighed deeply.

"Could it be that if I throw this one off the top of the mountain... he'll roll all the way back to the village? Hm... possible..." he thought, looking bored, almost philosophical.

"Oh, how I hate dealing with stupid people," he muttered out loud, more to himself than to the two of them.

They both turned at the sa ti, their eyes wide and their fangs half exposed.

"What did you say?" they asked in unison, like a pair of clowns about to be cosmically slapped.

The two vampires looked at each other for a second. The skinny one tightened his grip on the spear, and the fat one bit his lower lip as if he'd just rembered a fight he'd lost a thousand years ago.

"Enough of that. Let's finish this idiot off before he swears at us again," said the skinny man, striding forward with quick steps.

"That's it! Nobody talks like that to the guards of Clan Dragamir!" added the fat man, pulling out a short sword that was strapped to his back. "Let's show them what happens to insolents in the mountains of Transylvania!"

They jumped together in pathetic synchronicity, like two drunken circus acrobats. The snow rose from the ground in swirls, the shadows lengthened with their movents, and for a brief mont, it seed that so glorious action was about to take place.

And then everything stopped.

The air froze. Literally.

They both stopped in mid-air, as if ti had been suspended by a cosmic theater director. The spears and swords beca motionless. The snow, once dancing, froze in mid-air like suspended glass.

The aura.

It was suffocating, colossal, and flowed out of Vergil like a chasm opening up in the middle of a mountain. It wasn't fire, thunder or light. It was pure presence. Ancient, violent and imperial.

His eyes glowed a deep, eternal red.

"Hey, you two codies," he said, with a lazy smile on his lips. "I'm the fucking Fifth Demon King."

The surrounding snow evaporated. The mountain shook slightly. The skinny man began to sweat... blood.

"Do you want to die?" The two of them fell to the ground like sacks of rotten potatoes. The skinny man's spear broke on impact, splitting in half like a dry twig. The fat man let out a panicked grunt and, for a mont, looked like he was going to cry right there.

"A-now I rember...!" The fat man widened his eyes, fished his cell phone out of his pocket with trembling hands and began swiping the screen with the speed of soone looking for the last loaf of bread in a zombie apocalypse. "Here! HERE! VERGIL LUCIFER! DEMON KING!"

He turned the device towards his colleague, as if that would save their souls. On the screen was a picture of Vergil, in profile, with a serious expression and half-closed eyes. He was wearing the sa dark cloak and the sa blasé look as before.

Vergil frowned, moved closer and took the cell phone from the trembling vampire's hand.

"This photo..." he muttered, analyzing the image.

In the corner of the screen was the profile na.

@katharina.lux.666

Photo posted a week ago. Caption: "King or model? #MyKing #DemonOfMyHeart #VergilVibes"

Vergil sighed deeply. "Gee... you can't even take it from a better angle."

He handed the phone back with an expression of pure artistic disappointnt. Then he turned towards the entrance to the mansion and began to climb the snow-covered steps.

The guards remained motionless, like two newly discovered statues of terror. "If you're smart, pretend you didn't exist today."

And with slow steps, Vergil disappeared through the main door, like a shadow that the world was not prepared to face head-on.

Vergil simply walked into the castle like soone going to buy bread. His hands in his pockets, his hood pulled back, his shoulders relaxed as if he were strolling through a park. No sound ca from his footsteps, even on the impeccable old marble. His presence... had completely disappeared.

In the shadows and in the long, ornate corridors, dozens of vampires went about their nightly routines, even though the sun was out. So, elegantly dressed, walked around with glasses of blood as if they were French wines. Others whispered in ancient languages, planning power plays or discussing which type of human tasted best with spices. One group played poker with human teeth instead of chips. And a butler was pushing a tray with a still-beating brain across a silver platter.

Vergil passed through them all unnoticed. Like a ghost. Like a predator among predators who didn't even realize they were already inside the beast's mouth.

He reached the center of the castle, where the main mansion stood like a monunt to exaggerated Gothic: arched windows, black columns, red stained glass. And there, in front of the main door made of ebony and demonic carvings, Vergil stopped.

His eyes narrowed.

"Hm..." He felt it. An aura.

It was intense, pulsating. A powerful presence was just behind the door. It wasn't like the other vampires in the place. It was different. High. Ancient.

Vergil smiled.

"Finally, sothing fun."

Before he could even knock, the door opened violently, as if it had been thrown open from the inside. A gust of wind laden with the sll of blood, roses and burnt bones swept through the corridors. The nearby curtains rose like ghosts in ecstasy.

On the other side of the door... a figure erged.

Vergil looked up, he was 2.20 tall and yet... he had to look up?

"Oh... a werewolf." Vergil muttered as he analyzed the guy in front of him.

The torn plaid shirt, the jeans soiled with dirt and dried blood. Everything about him scread inner Alabama supernatural. But it was sothing else that really caught Vergil's attention.

His wild eyes.

The scar on his chest.

The rage that seed to boil under his skin as if the beast was only a second away from coming out.

"Who the fuck are you?" the man snarled, taking a step forward. But before he could finish his sentence, a monstrous impact threw him backwards.

The werewolf went through the wall like a projectile, smashing columns, furniture and antique chandeliers. Vergil hadn't even moved. He only raised a hand.

"Tsk..." Vergil clicked his tongue and looked around, bored.

"I ca to kill the bastard who bothered at the hotel. But it seems I've found an even better asshole to crush."

Fury began to rise in him. Slowly, like a black storm forming on the horizon. The air beca thick. The flas of the torches on the walls flickered. Sothing ancient, primal, was beginning to take shape.

From the rubble, the werewolf rose with difficulty, spitting blood. Its mouth was now full of fangs. His eyes were red with pure rage. His chest was heaving. But... he stopped when he heard the next line.

"You..." he began, hesitantly. "Who the fuck-"

"You have a scar on your chest." Vergil cut him off, his gaze as cold as ice. "A claw blow... made by another beast. Wasn't it?"

The aura around him exploded.

The ground began to crack. The nearby windows exploded into shards. The barely contained streams of energy ran through the corridors like serpents of darkness.

"You're Alexa's brother, aren't you?"

Silence.

The werewolf froze. His eyes widened. His pupils dilated as if sothing had torn the world in half right in front of him. The na... that na... echoed in his mind like a war drum.

"Who the... fuck... are you?" he snarled, his voice laced with sothing between anger and a fear that even he didn't understand.

Vergil looked directly at him. His eyes were red, like live coals. No hesitation. Without blinking.

"Her fucking husband."

And then ca the blow.

In an instant, Vergil was gone. The next, his fist was already through the werewolf's chest with such force that the world seed to stop.

A thunderous roar cut through the sky as a wave of black energy exploded in all directions, tearing through walls, columns and ceiling. Half the mansion simply ceased to exist - consud by an impact so overwhelming that even the surrounding snow evaporated within a radius of fifty ters.

The ground shook.

The mountains in the distance groaned.

And under the rubble, all that remained was a sepulchral silence... and Vergil, standing in the middle of the destruction, his fists still clenched.

"Co here, trash." Vergil called out before a huge howl echoed throughout the mountain.