Capítulo 635: Happy Empresses
Vergil ventured into himself—not as a poetic taphor, but in an absolute and conscious dive, allowing his perception to spill into the most intimate layers of his soul. It was a path that very few dared to tread. Not even ancient demons, masters of centuries of carnage, willingly faced the abyss of their own essence.
But Vergil did not retreat. He knew every shadow that had shaped him, every luminous fissure that resisted existing, every scar that had beco ingrained in his being long before he possessed a na.
When his consciousness finally stabilized, the ntal world erged around him with the delicacy of a restrained sigh.
And the most unsettling thing: it was a serene sigh.
Stretching beneath his feet, an endless field of red spider lilies undulated like a living ocean. The petals, thin and curved, trembled in an almost respiratory rhythm, as if that soil had its own pulse. The air carried a sweet, tallic scent, an aroma impossible to define: part flower, part blood, part mory. The wind, if it could be called that, neither howled nor howled; it moved with a silent reverence, as if recognizing Vergil as sothing intrinsic to that plane—and yet, sothing to be treated with ritual distance.
On the horizon, two structures tore through the dreamlike landscape with colossal grandeur.
The first, closer, was a demonic temple whose architecture was as precise as it was cruel. Its columns resembled the ribs of a colossal fossilized creature, and its arches seed like blades about to close on anyone who dared cross its threshold. A cold, bluish light seeped through the cracks like the panting breath of a sleeping titan.
Further away, almost touching the scarlet firmant, rose a blood sakura of imasurable proportions. Its branches twisted like exposed arteries, expanding in slow, organic movents, following a deep pulse—an entire heart suspended in the center of the sky.
Each falling petal left a crimson trail in the air, disappearing before touching the ground, like mories burned before they could manifest.
Vergil narrowed his eyes, studying this impossible panorama. His ntal world used to be a fractured, noisy labyrinth, torn apart by internal conflicts that never ceased. There, order never lasted—everything was movent, chaos, combat.
But now… everything rested. Calm. Frighteningly calm.
Which, of course, ant that sothing out of the ordinary was happening.
He noticed the first anomaly when he turned his head.
Itharine was there, seated as if it were the most natural thing in the world, delicately sipping tea at a black marble table. Her human form was precise, elegant, enveloped in a dark dress that seed to move like smoke. Her eyes—serene wells of inevitability—rose gently as she noticed Vergil. Death, the Knight, the ultimate incarnation of the End… within his soul as if at ho.
And with her, conversing in absolute tranquility…
Qliphoth.
The Infernal World Tree.
The one that had grown from his own blood.
The one that had already almost consud an entire world.
Now, in a humanoid female form, elegant, translucent, every fiber of her skin resembling rivers of scarlet sap flowing within glass.
The two were having tea.
In their ntal world.
With fine porcelain.
Vergil looked away for a mont—not because he was uncomfortable, but because… this was simply strange even by his standards.
Itharine raised her cup.
Qliphoth nodded politely.
“Master,” Itharine greeted, in a calm voice that seed to traverse centuries. “Hello, young one,” Qliphoth said, almost sweetly.
He opened his mouth to reply, but didn’t have ti.
Above, the sky tore open.
Two humanoid figures in combat plumted through the air, dueling with such perfect violence and grace that the air scread around them. One was pure silver, white light refracted into scales and long hair that flowed like liquid tal.
The other was a scarlet hurricane, crimson dragon wings that cut through the fabric of reality with each strike.
Nivara.
Platinum Dragon Empress.
Crymsaria.
Scarlet Dragon Empress.
The two were fighting again—as they always did—testing limits, destroying small portions of the sky that then regenerated as if nothing had happened. It was an ancient, familiar, almost routine spectacle.
But they sensed Vergil.
And the entire ntal world seed to hold its breath in a collective gasp.
Nivara stopped first, hovering in the air with a blinding glow. Crymsaria took another second, probably because she was about to strike her sister in the face—but, noticing Vergil, she dodged and landed on the ground in a column of flas.
The two Empresses rushed toward him at the sa ti, like two storms determined to strike the sa point.
“VERGIL!”
“FINALLY!”
They stopped right in front of him, both so intense that even the field of lilies seed to tilt slightly.
Nivara placed her hands on her hips, sun-drenched in indignation. “You should have co sooner!”
Crymsaria crossed her arms, her wings folding back. “We wanted to talk to you!”
Vergil blinked.
Then, slowly, he tilted his head.
“And why,” he asked with absolute calm, “didn’t you simply call ?”
The silence that followed was so absolute that even the wind stopped.
The two Empresses—entities whose existence stretched across ages and who had witnessed the death of galaxies—looked at each other.
First confused.
Then… incredibly embarrassed.
“…It’s true,” said Nivara, scratching her cheek.
“…It really is,” cried Crymsaria, looking at her own feet.
They both spoke together:
“It’s true…”
Vergil took a deep breath, carefully asuring the patience he had reserved for beings who could destroy continents without raising their voices.
Behind them, Itharine took another sip of tea, satisfied.
Qliphoth smiled like a proud mother.
The lilies swayed as if laughing.
Vergil simply crossed his arms, awaiting the explanation he knew would co—and which, most likely, would be as chaotic as the two Empresses had always been.
Nivara took a deep breath, regaining that almost divine glow that always surrounded her, and smiled a smile as clear as newly forged steel.
“But the important thing is: you’re here now!”
Crymsaria crossed her arms, the fire in her eyes intensifying—but it wasn’t anger. It was firmness. Tense gratitude.
“We just wanted to thank you for killing that disgusting creature.”
Nivara nodded, her posture impeccable, but her jaw betraying that she was still clearly bothered.
“Regardless of our eternal rivalry, we agree on this. That thing was an offense… and we are grateful that you eliminated it.”
Vergil shifted his gaze between the two Empresses, analyzing every nuance of what they were hearing.
Rare were the monts when Nivara and Crymsaria agreed.
Even rarer were the monts when they expressed gratitude for sothing.
He raised his chin, his expression neutral.
“Did you want that abomination—the spirit of Ryon Sukuna manipulated by Yama—to die so badly?”
The two Empresses exchanged a charged look. One of those silent looks that said much more than words could.
And then they spoke together, with the raw sincerity that only showed itself when the situation was truly serious:
“He had a fragnt of us.”
Vergil narrowed his eyes.
Crymsaria continued, her voice firm, sharp.
“Probably a scale that fell during one of our fights.”
Nivara completed with a somber softness:
“Just one scale from our real bodies is enough to cause… imnse imbalance.”
Crymsaria frowned, almost growling.
“Any inferior creature that touches a fragnt of us is already corrupted, driven mad, mutated. But Sukuna…”
Nivara placed a hand on her sister’s shoulder—a gesture that only happened when the matter was truly grave.
“Sukuna was already a divided soul, unstable, cursed. Mixing that with a fragnt of us was like lighting a fuse in a barrel of divine gunpowder.”
Crymsaria nodded slowly, her eyes burning with a bitter mory.
“That spirit was no longer Sukuna. It was a distortion. A plague blessed and cursed at the sa ti. A demon-bearer of our essence—but without any right to it.”
Nivara sighed, crossing her hands before her, almost in reverence to her own honor.
“And such a creature is an affront to our Race. To our existence. And to the taphysical balance of this world.”
Vergil absorbed everything, his thoughts sharp as blades.
He understood what they were saying—not just the content, but the subtext.
The real importance.
Crymsaria then looked directly at him.
And when the Scarlet Dragon Empress stares at you without flinching, it’s because there’s no room for ambiguity.
“When you killed Sukuna… you destroyed the fragnt along with it.”
Nivara smiled, this ti with genuine light in her eyes.
“That’s why we ca to thank you. And that’s why we wanted to speak with you so much. What you eliminated could have beco… sothing worse.”
Crymsaria inclined her head, and a soft, almost respectful fla ran through her wings.
“You did more than kill an adversary, Vergil.”
Nivara concluded, with the serenity of a thunderbolt about to strike:
“You eliminated a distortion that could have awakened part of our true power within an unworthy being.”
And both, together, said with a rare synchronicity—dark, respectful, and for the first ti… equal:
“Therefore, we are indebted to you.”
The field of lilies swayed.
Qliphoth smiled proudly.
Itharine raised her cup in a silent toast.
“I understand,” Vergil said, giving a small smile and patting the heads of the two empresses. “Whenever you need sothing, just ask,” he said, smiling. “I don’t bite.”
The two dragon empresses felt their whole bodies tingle and their cheeks grew hot, blushing at the sight of that gentle smile… They both lowered their heads and hid their eyes with the bangs of their long hair…
They looked at each other sideways… ‘…’
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