My Wives are Beautiful Demons Chapter 601: More guests

Chapter 601: More guests

Wukong slowly lowered the fan, observing Vergil with a look that mixed amusent and exasperation—the kind of look of soone accustod to dealing with his stubbornness.

“Are you serious?” Vergil asked, frowning. “Don’t tell that agreent was real.”

Wukong sighed, the fan closing with a soft snap.

“Real enough to give half a pantheon a headache,” she replied, her voice calm and serene, but with a touch of irony. “Wu Tian is about to arrive. He’s going to fight on the side of Buddhism.”

Vergil raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Wu Tian?” he repeated, as if the na ant nothing to him. “Who the hell is that?”

Wukong was silent for a mont. Her—or his, depending on how one wanted to see the Monkey King—gaze beca slightly impatient.

“Have you forgotten?” she asked, shaking her head slowly.

Vergil crossed his arms and waited.

“Enlighten my mory.”

Wukong let out a small nasal laugh, but there was sothing sincere in the sound—a pang of nostalgia perhaps.

“That kid who fought you in the Vatican,” she finally replied.

For a brief mont, Vergil’s face remained expressionless. Then, slowly, a smile appeared.

“AHHHH… that boy with the fake Ruyi Jingu Bang,” he said, snapping his fingers as if he had finally rembered sothing. “Your disciple, isn’t he? The one who joined the hero faction.”

Wukong nodded, closing the fan in front of her face. “Himself. And apparently, he still has the sa unnecessary ego as before.”

Vergil let out a short laugh. “Hah. So the ‘disciple’ is going to fight for the golden monks… interesting.” The tone of his voice made it clear that he was more amused than worried. “I hope he’s learned sothing since the last beating.”

“He has learned,” Wukong replied, now in a more serious tone. “He’s learned enough not to underestimate you again.”

Vergil tilted his head slightly, as if appreciating the challenge. “That’s almost a complint.”

Wukong shrugged. “Or a warning.”

While the two exchanged banter like old acquaintances, Ada watched everything with an increasingly confused expression.

She blinked, trying to keep up with the pace of that conversation that seed to have decades of history behind it.

First, the demon king acting as if he were talking to an old friend… who, apparently, was none other than Sun Wukong, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven—one of the most chaotic and unpredictable figures among the gods.

And now… they were talking about monks, disciples, and battles in the Vatican?

None of it made sense.

She moved a little closer, looking from one to the other.

“Wait…” she began, trying to organize her thoughts. “You two know each other… that well?”

Vergil looked at her for a mont and then turned back to Wukong, who seed on the verge of laughter.

“‘Well’ is an understatent, Lady Baal,” the Monkey King replied with a slight tone of mockery. “Your husband and I have… so unfinished business, if we can put it that way.”

Ada’s eyes widened. “What?!”

Vergil gave a half-smile, calm, almost indifferent. “Long story.” And then added, with a provocative glint in his eyes: “And, curiously, it’s about that Pope problem, rember? Well, she’s the one who killed the Pope.”

Wukong raised his fan in front of his face and fanned himself once. “That’s debatable, after all, you manipulated with your words, demon.”

“Don’t look at like that, it was fun, right?” Vergil retorted without hesitation. Ada looked from one to the other, unsure whether to laugh, worry, or simply give up trying to understand.

Her husband was exchanging friendly barbs with the legendary Sage of the Heavens—an entity that even the gods didn’t like to cross.

And worse: they both seed to be enjoying themselves.

She crossed her arms, exhaling a resigned sigh.

“Let’s go,” Wukong said. “We have to talk about… you know.” She said, glancing sideways and pointing to the second floor, where a beautiful woman was looking at her.

“Tsk. Yama.” Wukong murmured.

But before they could continue, a heavy sound cut through the air—the tallic clanging of ancient chains, followed by a guttural growl that reverberated through the hall’s columns.

Vergil slowly turned around.

On the other side of the platform, the chains holding Cerberus began to shake with unnatural force. The three heads rose simultaneously, the tripled eyes burning with an infernal glow, and thick foam dripping from their open mouths. The sharp fangs reflected the bluish fire of the torches, and each breath of the creature sounded like the roar of thunder trapped inside a throat.

“…This isn’t good,” Ada murmured, instinctively taking a step back.

Wukong looked up, his fan still half-open in front of his face, and calmly raised an eyebrow with a provocative air.

“It seems the little dog felt sothing.”

Vergil kept his eyes fixed on the beast, his expression impassive. “He’s not looking at us.”

And he was right.

Cerberus, even in its fury, didn’t fix its gaze on Vergil, Ada, or Wukong. The monster trembled, the chains clanking, but its triple gaze was directed towards the colossal entrance of the hall.

The three heads bowed and then let out a howl that made the ground shake.

A howl of recognition.

Or fear.

Wukong narrowed his eyes. “…Fear?”

Before he could finish, the golden statues next to the gate began to move. Their eyes lit up with golden flas, and with the deep sound of celestial gears, the statues’ hands joined together, slowly opening the doors of Erebus.

The flas in the torches flickered, and a heavy wind blew through the hall, dissipating so of the luminous dust that still lingered in the air.

“Ah… great.” Vergil sighed, adjusting the collar of his suit. “Another important guest.”

The statues spoke in unison, their voices echoing like muffled thunder within the hall’s vault:

“Announce! Hercules, the Hero of Olympus, son of Zeus and champion among the gods!”

The impact of the words reverberated through the hall as if the na itself carried divine weight.

Wukong clicked his tongue. “Of course… him.”

The gate opened completely, and for a mont, everything seed to fall silent—even Cerberus, who was panting heavily, as if struggling against its own nature.

Then, an imnse shadow was cast across the floor.

The figure that erged was colossal, even by divine standards. Hercules advanced with slow steps, each step echoing like a drum. The muscular body seed sculpted from living stone, encased in golden armor with carvings that glead like lava. Over his shoulders, he wore the skin of a lion—the Nean Lion—whose empty eyes still seed to observe the world of the living.

“That… is an entrance,” Ada murmured, with an expression between admiration and astonishnt.

Vergil, on the other hand, maintained the sa expression of contained boredom.

“What an exaggeration.” He crossed his arms. “Heroes and their theatrical drama…”

Hercules stopped in the center of the hall. The air around him seed to vibrate, as if space itself bent under the weight of his presence. His tensed muscles, his firm gaze, and the golden glow of his divine aura caused even the lesser gods to fall silent.

Wukong lowered his fan, his gaze narrowed. “That explains the dog’s behavior.”

Cerberus continued to thrash about. The chains stretched taut, his paws clawed at the ground, and each of the three heads barked in different tones—a cry of warning, of fury, and of instinct. Foam frothed from their mouths, their fangs gnashed, and sparks flew as the steel of the chains scraped against the black rocks.

“He slls Zeus,” Wukong said, twirling the fan between his fingers. “And he doesn’t like it one bit.”

Ada took a step back, her heart racing. “And what do we do if he breaks those chains?”

Vergil turned to her with the sa serenity he displayed in the midst of battles. His gaze was cold, unwavering.

“He won’t,” he said, adjusting his glove. “He knows he would die instantly with his head cut off.”

Ada frowned. “Which of the three? How can you be so sure?”

A half-smile curved his lips. “Yamato is trembling within my subspace,” he replied, in an almost thoughtful tone. “That only happens when there’s another blade like it… or more powerful… nearby.”

The silence between the two lasted for a mont. The sound of Cerberus’s chains and the distant roar echoed through the hall, but Vergil paid no attention to them. His gaze rose slowly, attentively—sweeping the environnt until it reached the vaulted ceiling of Erebus.

And then he saw her.

Sitting with an almost insolent calm on one of the suspended beams, a woman observed the scene from above—legs crossed, swaying slightly, as if the chaos below were a re spectacle.

Her kimono—a yukata in shades of black, purple, and white—swayed gently in the cold draft descending from the ceiling. The fabric seed made of smoke and light, each fold reflecting fragnts of contained thunder. Her long, black hair cascaded down her back, and her eyes—deep, intense—burned with a gleam that resembled polished steel.

Vergil watched her for a few seconds, motionless, before murmuring:

“So it’s you… Susanoo.”

The na echoed softly, but Wukong imdiately looked up, recognizing the weight of it.

The woman above tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a subtle smile.

“I didn’t know the Fifth knew about . That’s surprising. It must have been Paimon who spoke of my presence.”

Her voice was calm, yet charged with authority—an ancient music, almost like the distant sound of a storm gathering.

Vergil kept his gaze steady. “Hard not to notice when the entire air seems to cut itself.”

Susanoo chuckled softly, and the sound—soft, yet clear—traversed the hall like the clinking of tal.

“I’ve beco curious about you; it seems you have an interesting blade there,” Vergil said, smiling.