My Wives are Beautiful Demons Chapter 300: Curses

The sky above the holy city was in a state of agony.

The clouds, once golden and soft like veils of divinity, had turned into dense, pulsating masses, as if the firmant itself was writhing in fear. Lightning flashed between them, but in silence - no thunder, as if the universe was holding its breath at what was coming.

At the top of one of the buildings blackened by the ashes of war, sat a solemn and elegant figure.

Valerie.

Her white hair cascaded down her shoulders, in stark contrast to the light silver armor she wore - forged from lunar tal and embroidered with threads of living mana. Her golden eyes, ethereal and calm, scanned the fabric of reality, seeing beyond the dinsional barriers.

Sitting on the curb of a ruined marquee, she crossed one leg over the other, elegant even among the wreckage. On her back, the sacred spear rested with the tranquility of a sleeping beast.

"So... should we get together?" her voice sounded low, like the ringing of bells in a forgotten temple.

Behind her, leaning against a broken tower, was Gwen.

Her azure skin shimred in the warm light of the celestial runes that floated around the battlefield. She wore a dark cloak, open at the front, revealing the arcane tattoos that danced across her skin like living constellations. Her violet eyes sparkled with malice - but also with strategy.

"I'd say it's quite difficult, actually," replied Gwen, smiling with black-painted lips. "He used an internal seal. The kind that says 'let play by myself'. And well... when the master goes into that mode..."

She looked up.

Down below, surrounded by six layers of rotating runes, the Battle Dinsion pulsed with a light between purple and crimson. It was as if each layer was a world trying to contain the fury of two monsters playing chess with thunder.

Kaori, lying on her side on a fallen sculpture of an angel, raised her pale, smooth hand, causing demonic circles to start spinning in the air. Her beauty was exotic. She wore only a red kimono, open at the legs, embroidered with black lotuses and drops of golden blood.

"Let's seal off the surrounding area." His voice was calm but firm, with an accent borne of centuries of occult magic. "I think the master is going overboard. He's got that... murderous look."

His fingers danced through the air like brushes, and six new barriers appeared, overlapping the previous ones like collapsing mandalas. Each one chanted a different song - in languages no living soul would dare utter.

"I wanted to have fun..." growled a deep, guttural voice.

From the depths of the destroyed structure erged Kraggor.

A monolith of living muscle. Its ruddy skin burned like embers under a mantle of hardened bones. His horns curved backwards like demonic scythes, and every step he took made the ground crackle. The huge weapon strapped to his back - a war hamr the size of a car - seed small in comparison.

He crossed his arms with an almost childish sigh.

"It's always the sa talk... 'seals', 'codes', 'dinsional balance'..." he snorted, smoke coming out of his nostrils. "I just wanted to smash sothing."

Valerie smiled slightly, almost like a mother in front of an impatient child.

"I still think it's reckless to fight without knowing the enemy," she muttered, her golden eyes still fixed on the battle dinsion. "This 'Spectre'... he's not just power. He's deviation. He's pure disorder."

"Agreed." replied Kaori, adjusting one of the seals that were slowly rotating above her head like inverted halos.

For a mont, the group seed in harmony. Silence. Reflection.

But then, as always, Gwen broke the mood.

"I think..." she said with a predatory smile "...that this is the best ti to attack." She turned around, her eyes sparking.

Then... Kraggor spoke, as if trying to explain. "Think about it. Neither of you knows the other completely. This is the only mont when the battle is evenly matched. If it goes on like this, Spectre will adapt. He'll evolve. And if he activates the Ex-Calibur fragnt, we're screwed. The master hasn't finished the new Yamato yet."

Valerie and Kaori exchanged silent glances.

Then, at the sa ti, they turned to Kraggor with an expression of doubt...

"Since when are you so clever?" they asked in unison, almost lodically. "We thought you were just a brute."

Kraggor frowned, indignant.

"Hey! I'm good at combat. That's all. You can take care of the rest," he replied, shrugging.

"He really is," added Gwen. "We already think too much. Four brains trying to predict all the futures at once just gets in the way."

She smiled, her canines visible, sharp as daggers.

"But his observation was spot on."

Gwen then pointed beyond the barrier.

In the distance... far beyond... an ancient cetery was beginning to stir.

"Two unknown invaders are over there... and they're ssing with the dead." She pointed with her index finger, her painted fingernail glistening under the beams of dinsional light.

"Those guys... weren't invited." Then she patted Kraggor on the back. "Go on, big man. Have fun."

The colossus laughed, a guttural thunder that reverberated across the top of the building.

Then, with a leap, Kraggor disappeared towards the cetery like a bullet of flesh and fury.

A red blur with flaming horns tearing through the air.

Kaori watched him disappear between the buildings. "He looks like the Red Hulk with horns." Valerie sighed.

Valerie sighed. "Yeah... but at least he's our Hulk."

...

The silence between Vergil and Spectre was almost more dangerous than the screams from the previous battle.

They stared at each other in the center of the sealed dinsion - two titans of opposite essence, but equally threatening. The ground around them no longer knew whether to sink or float. Ti hesitated, as if reality itself was holding its breath.

Vergil spun Yamato around in slow, almost lazy movents, as if he were handling a kitchen knife and not a sword capable of cutting through dinsions. The smile still hung on the corner of his lips, but his eyes were half-closed, attentive.

Spectre, on the other hand, didn't move a muscle. His skull remained slightly tilted, as if he had already analyzed a thousand futures and was just curious to see which one Vergil would choose.

"You're not going to attack first."

Spectre broke the silence, his voice coming out as dry as crushed leaves in winter.

"Your ego wouldn't let you."

Vergil snorted lightly, crossing his arms.

"Attack first? You're kidding, right?"

He cracked his neck.

"This is theater. And I'm the protagonist. The villain always starts the act."

Spectre replied with a slight nod, and his cape rippled as if the universe had choked.

"I've already started. I'm here. You're the one who's late."

The two of them remained motionless for a few seconds. The tension was such that a crack appeared in the dinsional ceiling, just because there was so much energy suspended in the air.

Vergil smiled, but didn't respond.

Spectre didn't move either.

The mind ga had begun.

One false move would an the opening of the real confrontation - and they both knew that, more than strength, winning there required mastery of intent.

But then...

Sothing broke through the silence.

A howl.

Loud. Wild. Sharp.

Spectre turned his head slightly, and in an instant, a gigantic wolf with a silvery gray coat leapt out of the shadows behind him. Its eyes were like blue embers, and its gaping mouth closed brutally over the skull's left shoulder.

CRACK.

Spectre staggered, surprised - not at the pain, but at the interruption. The black cloak lashed out in reaction, trying to expel the mystical creature that was now baring its teeth with primal fury.

"Fenrhaem..." muttered Vergil with a half-smile. "Always kind."

And then Vergil appeared in front of Spectre - not walking, not running - but simply being there, as if the distance between them had surrendered to his will.

Without warning. No visible teleport. No chance to react.

And he punched.

A single punch.

Not a blow full of magical pyrotechnics, not an elental explosion. Just a closed fist, wrapped in the silver-blue energy of his sealed demonic power, piercing through the air like a final verdict.

The impact collided with Spectre's skull - and the universe groaned.

The dinsion shook like a glass box about to explode. The bubble that held the heroes swayed, the bloody skies tore apart once again, and the ground that supported everything collapsed for a few seconds before recovering.

Spectre flew.

Launched like a black missile, enveloped in its own shattered shadow, it crossed dozens of ters until it crashed into a column of static energy that held up the dinsional veil.

"There's the opening of the first act." Vergil turned his wrist and shook his hand, as if he had just swatted away a fly. "Can you stop pretending you're untouchable now?"

Fenrhaem growled in the background, still holding fragnts of the black cloak between his teeth.

Spectre slowly rose from the crater, his skull slightly cracked on the side.

The crack... glowed.

Not with light.

But with absolute hatred.

"You'll regret it," whispered the skull, now without a trace of irony.

Vergil stretched like soone about to run a marathon for fun. "I hope so. Regret makes breakfast tasty."

"In spite of everything..." Vergil thought, squinting as he watched Spectre rise from the crater. "...this guy should be stronger, shouldn't he?"

He frowned slightly, as if sothing was out of place.

And then he felt it.

A tingling. A strange burning. Sothing... wrong.

"Ah... of course." Vergil muttered, in an almost bored tone.

With one clean movent, he pulled Yamato aside and cut his own left hand without hesitation. The blood barely had ti to drain - the hand fell to the ground and turned to dust before everyone's eyes.

"Corrosion Curse..." he said contemptuously, watching the fragnts disappear like ashes.

"...what a bad joke."

On the other side, Spectre let out a sound that might have been laughter... if skulls could laugh.

"Astute," he comnted, "few would have realized it so quickly."

Vergil just shrugged, twirling Yamato between his fingers with his remaining hand.

"I'm fast... even when I'm being poisoned."

"And you..." he pointed the tip of the blade at Spectre,

"...will need more than second-rate necromancer tricks."