My Wives are Beautiful Demons Chapter 760: What do we do now?

Six weeks had passed since Dante’s fall.

Enough ti for the imdiate chaos to settle. Still, there were things within that mansion that didn’t fit any common definition of normality, elents that simply existed apart from any previous logic.

Lucy was one of them.

The na ca up almost casually, in the middle of a conversation that wasn’t intended to be important, but ended up becoming definitive. "Lucifer" carried too much weight, too much history, too many expectations for sothing that, at that mont, possessed absolutely none of that. "Lucy," on the other hand, was... light. Simple. And, above all, appropriate to what she demonstrated herself to be.

Because despite appearances—

Lucy was a baby.

Not in the obvious physical sense, since her body had the form of a girl of approximately twelve years old, with proportional limbs, a defined posture, and features that, at first glance, didn’t indicate extre fragility. But everything beyond that... everything that really mattered... was at absolute zero.

She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t read.

She couldn’t write.

And in the beginning—

She barely knew how to walk.

The first week had been... complicated.

Not because of resistance.

But because of a total lack of reference points.

Her movents were uncoordinated, not because of weakness, but because of a lack of understanding of her own body. Her steps were uncertain, as if each attempt to move required an internal calculation that didn’t yet fully exist. More than once, she simply lost her balance mid-way, not because she tripped over sothing, but because she... forgot how to continue.

And every ti— She fell.

Without dramatic reaction.

Without imdiate crying.

Just... falling.

As if she hadn’t yet learned that it should hurt.

It was Seris who started it.

Not by explicit choice, but because of proximity. Her more patient, more analytical nature allowed her to deal with Lucy in a way that didn’t demand quick answers or imdiate progress. She didn’t force it. She didn’t rush.

She observed.

And taught.

"Like this," she said once, kneeling in front of Lucy, lightly holding her hands as she guided her step forward. "One at a ti."

Lucy didn’t answer.

But her eyes—

followed.

Intensely.

As if every small movent was worthy of total attention.

She tried.

The first step was unsteady.

The second—

Almost a fall.

But Seris didn’t let go.

And Lucy... didn’t give up.

Alice entered soon after.

If Seris was the base, Alice was the expansion.

"She learns too fast," she comnted once, crossing her arms as she watched Lucy repeat a movent for the fourth ti... perfectly.

"It’s not ’too fast’," Seris replied calmly. "She just... doesn’t have patterns."

And it was true.

Lucy didn’t need to unlearn anything.

There were no vices.

There were no habits.

There were no preconceived notions hindering the process.

She absorbed.

Pure.

Direct.

Like a sponge.

In a few days, she could already stand without constant help. In two weeks, her steps ceased to be attempts and beca real movents, still slow, still cautious, but functional. And at the end of the first month...

She was already walking.

Not perfectly.

But enough.

There were still monts when she stopped halfway, as if she forgot the next movent, but now... she resud on her own.

And that—

Was progress.

Communication was... more difficult.

Not due to incapacity.

But due to a lack of language.

Lucy didn’t make any sounds at first.

None.

Not even attempts.

She just observed.

And she reacted.

Mostly—to Vergil.

There was sothing there that didn’t need to be taught.

From the first mont, she recognized him.

Not with words.

But with action.

It was common to find her wandering around the mansion only to eventually locate Vergil... and go to him.

Without warning.

Without hesitation.

And then—

Hold.

His coat.

His arm.

Sotis just touch.

As if confirming that he was still there.

Vergil didn’t comnt on it.

But also—

He never pushed her away.

"She follows you," Katharina comnted once, watching Lucy stop beside him while he read, completely silent.

"...I noticed," he replied, without taking his eyes off the book.

"And you don’t find that... strange?"

A short pause.

"...I do," he replied. But he didn’t sound bothered.

Quite the opposite.

There was sothing... different about the way he accepted it.

As if, despite not fully understanding—

It was natural.

Alice tried to introduce language in the third week.

She started simply.

Objects.

"This," she said, holding up a cup. "Cup."

Lucy stared.

Fixedly.

Alice repeated.

"Cup. Cup."

Lucy tilted her head slightly.

Her lips moved.

No sound.

Trying.

But nothing ca out.

Alice didn’t insist.

"All right," she said. "Again later."

And then, a few hours later—

Lucy appeared with the cup in her hand.

And handed it to her.

Without saying anything.

But with clear intention.

Alice blinked.

And smiled slightly.

"...okay." she murmured. "She understood."

Seris watched from afar.

"She doesn’t need to speak yet," she said calmly. "She’s already making the connection."

And that—

Was enough.

Lilith kept her distance at first.

Not out of rejection.

But out of caution.

There was sothing about Lucy that... echoed.

Sothing ancient.

Sothing that shouldn’t exist in that way.

But at the sa ti—

It was impossible to ignore what she was now.

One afternoon, Lucy tripped.

Nothing serious.

But enough to make her fall to her knees on the living room floor.

She didn’t cry.

But she stood still.

As if processing what had happened.

Lilith watched.

For a few seconds.

And then—

She approached.

Without saying anything.

She knelt in front of her.

And extended her hand.

Lucy looked.

At the hand.

Then at Lilith’s face.

And then—

She accepted.

She stood up with help.

And didn’t let go imdiately.

She stood there.

For a few seconds.

Holding on.

Lilith said nothing.

But also—

She didn’t move away.

"You’re getting used to it," Sepphirothy comnted later, with a slight smile.

Lilith looked away.

"...that’s not it."

But she didn’t elaborate.

Physical training ca later.

Not as combat.

But as adaptation.

Sapphire took on that part.

"She needs to understand her own body," she said firmly.

And Lucy—

Learned.

Quickly.

Basic movents.

Balance.

Coordination.

No strength was being explored yet.

But... potential?

It was absurd.

Even without intention, without technique, without full awareness, there were monts when her small movents caused subtle changes in the environnt. A firr step that made the ground respond. A simple gesture that displaced too much air for sothing so light.

Sapphire noticed.

And didn’t comnt.

Not yet.

Because that—

Wasn’t a priority.

Yet.

Ophis, as always, observed.

Without interfering.

"She’s growing," she comnted once, lying on the sofa, looking at the ceiling.

"Obviously," Katharina replied.

"Not like that," Ophis said.

Silence.

"...how?" Katharina asked.

Ophis turned his face slightly.

"Ti," he said simply.

And went back to sucking on his lollipop.

No one fully understood.

But also—

No one questioned much.

And then there was Vergil.

He didn’t teach directly.

Not like the others.

But his presence—

Was constant.

Lucy always ended up near him.

Sitting beside him.

Or just—

There.

And, over ti, small changes began to happen.

She started responding faster when he moved.

Following with her eyes.

Anticipating.

As if she were... synchronizing.

One night, he was standing on the balcony, looking at the distorted horizon of the underworld, when he felt a slight tug on his coat.

He looked down.

Lucy.

She said nothing.

But she pointed.

To the sky.

Vergil followed the gesture.

Silence.

"...that’s the sky from here," he said, without much thought.

She looked.

Then—

At him.

As if expecting more.

He hesitated.

For a second.

"...it’s... different," he added.

It wasn’t much.

But it was sothing.

Lucy looked back at the sky.

And stood there.

Beside him.

Without touching.

But... close.

And, for the first ti—

She didn’t seem lost.

She seed...

Present.

Learning.

Absorbing.

Becoming.

Lucy was no longer just sothing that had appeared.

She was—

Forming.

And, inside that mansion, surrounded by entities that defied conventions by their very existence...

She was perhaps—

The most unknown of them all.

Not because she was weak.

Or incomplete.

But because—

There were still no defined boundaries.

And that—

Was what mattered most.

...

[Another day]

The city of São Paulo pulsed outside with its usual intensity, lights stretching as far as the eye could see, traffic forming continuous rivers of red and white lights that never truly stopped. But inside the restaurant—an elevated, elegant, silent space—the world seed... slowed down. The sound was controlled, muffled by refined acoustics, conversations existing only as soft murmurs in the background, while cutlery touched porcelain with an almost rehearsed delicacy.

Vergil was seated at the table.

Impeccable posture, as always, spine erect, movents restrained, precise. But there was sothing different about him that night. It wasn’t visible to anyone, not imdiately, but it was there—an absence of tension that had previously been constant. As if, for the first ti in a long ti, he wasn’t reacting to sothing.

Just... existing.

Ahead of her, Sepphirothy sampled the local cuisine with curious interest, though maintaining her usual elegance. The dish before her carried typical Brazilian elents, vibrant colors, striking aromas, sothing far removed from the more... ethereal standards that normally surrounded her. Still, she seed to appreciate it.

"Interesting," she comnted, after taking a small bite, analyzing more than just the flavor. "There’s an intensity here that doesn’t try to hide."

Vergil observed for a mont, before picking up his glass and gently swirling the liquid inside.

"That defines this place well," he replied simply.

Sepphirothy smiled slightly, resting her elbow elegantly on the table, her chin supported by her hand as she observed him more attentively now, as if the dish had ceased to be the main focus.

"And you?" she asked softly. "What are you thinking?"

The question wasn’t intrusive.

But direct enough.

Vergil remained silent for a few seconds, his eyes briefly drifting to the window, observing the city outside as if asuring sothing beyond what was visible.

"...to rest," he finally replied.

Simple.

No beating around the bush.

Sepphirothy raised an eyebrow slightly, not surprised... but interested.

"Rest?" she repeated, a slight smile appearing.

Vergil nodded minimally.

"It’s been a while," he continued, his voice calm, steady. "Problem after problem. Situations that demanded an imdiate response. There was no... pause."

He brought the glass to his lips, taking a small sip before continuing.

"These six weeks were different."

Sepphirothy inclined her head slightly, agreeing.

"They were," she said. "Surprisingly... peaceful."

There was a slight hint of humor in the way she said it, as if she wasn’t quite used to the idea of ​​stability yet.

"Almost strange," she added.

Vergil didn’t disagree.

"Strange," he confird.

And yet—

It didn’t seem like a bad thing.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. Quite the opposite. It was... comfortable. Sothing rare, considering everything they had faced until then. The absence of urgency didn’t generate unease—just space.

Space to think.

Space to exist.

But, as always—

That space wasn’t permanent.

Vergil gently placed his glass on the table.

"...there’s still sothing to be done," he said.

Sephirothy didn’t need to ask what.

She already knew.

Even so, she kept her gaze fixed on him, waiting for him to put it into words.

"...Freyja," he finished.

The na hung between them for a mont.

Loaded.

Ancient.

And directly connected to sothing bigger.

"We need to go to her," Vergil continued. "You and I."

Sepphirothy didn’t look away.

But her expression changed slightly.

Subtle.

Almost imperceptible.

"...to break the curse," she said, completing the thought.

Vergil nodded.

"Odin’s," he added.

Silence returned.

But now—

With a different weight.

Sepphirothy slowly uncrossed her legs, resting both hands on the table, her fingers interlacing lightly as her expression lost so of its previous gentleness.

"He won’t allow it," she said.

Not as a hypothesis.

But as a certainty.

Vergil didn’t seem surprised.

"I know," he replied, directly.

And he truly knew.

Odin was no ordinary obstacle. It wasn’t just brute strength or power—it was strategy, mastery, control over concepts that went beyond the physical. Interfering directly with sothing connected to him... wouldn’t be simple.

But Vergil didn’t seem worried.

Just... resolute.

Sephirothy watched him for a few more seconds, as if trying to find so hesitation, so deeper calculation behind the apparent simplicity of the answer.

"...so what’s the plan?" she finally asked.

Vergil didn’t answer imdiately.

He picked up the cutlery.

He cut a small piece of the food in front of him.

He brought it to his mouth.

He chewed calmly.

And then—

He spoke.

"If it’s not possible to break the curse directly..." he began, his voice too calm for the weight of what he was saying.

"...then we get around it."

Sepphirothy narrowed her eyes slightly.

"...we get around it?" she repeated.

Vergil put down his cutlery.

And stared at her.

"If I kill Freyja..." he said, without any change in tone.

No emotion.

Just a fact.

"...and reincarnate her as a demon—"

He paused briefly.

Not dramatically.

But necessary.

"...the curse ceases to matter."

The silence that followed was absolute.

There were no more murmurs.

There were no more distractions.

That kind of proposal didn’t carry violence in its tone.

But... it carried consequences.

Sepphirothy remained motionless for a few seconds, completely absorbing what had been said, her eyes fixed on his, analyzing not only the words... but the intention behind them.

And then—

She smiled.

Slightly.

Not because she thought it was simple.

But because she recognized sothing.

"...you’re getting too direct," she comnted.

Vergil didn’t answer.

Because, deep down—

She wasn’t wrong.

Sephirothy rested her chin on her hand again, but now her gaze carried a different gleam.

More interested.

More... aligned.

"And you think she would accept that?" she asked.

Vergil looked away for a brief mont.

Thinking.

Calculating.

"...It doesn’t matter," he finally replied, and added: "Better dead and free than alive and trapped in an eternal curse."