My Wives are Beautiful Demons - Chapter 584

584: The reward for this tournament is…

584: The reward for this tournament is…

Shiva raised an eyebrow curiously.

“Are you saying the balance is breaking again?” Yama turned his gaze to him.

“It’s not.

It’s already broken.

Or do you think it’s normal for so many factions…

to have power and equality in this world?

Demons, Fallen Angels, Werewolves, Heroes, Vampires…

Witches.” The air split.

Literally.

A sharp sound, like the cracking of cosmic glass, echoed in the heart of the Colosseum.

The runes floating on the ceiling faded one by one, and a whirlpool of purple energy opened up in the very center of the arena-between Zeus’s throne and Yama’s shadow.

Gods rose.

Others retreated.

The space trembled.

From the portal exuded a force that didn’t belong there.

It was ancient, yes-but not divine in the celestial sense.

It was something…

independent, a magic that bowed to neither gods nor time.

And then, a voice echoed-soft, feminine, yet charged with enough power to make even lightning hesitate.

“I find it amusing that you bring…

my daughters into the picture.” The portal opened wide, and she stepped through.

Seris D’Arkhan.

The Witch Queen.

The silence became absolute.

She walked slowly, the sound of her heels echoing among the echoes of the portal’s corrupted energy.

Her long dress, black as the night between worlds, seemed alive, moving with the wind that didn’t exist.

The fabric reflected purple and silver hues as she moved, and an obsidian necklace pulsed around her neck like a crystal heart.

Her hair-long, straight, a pure black-flowed lightly, like strands plucked from a dawn.

And her eyes…

two abysses of red fragments, seemingly seeing everything.

Past, future, and sin.

She was beautiful-so overwhelmingly beautiful that even the gods stared at her with discomfort.

But there was something wrong with her beauty.

Something deadly.

Something that shouldn’t exist in a place like this.

The entire Colosseum vibrated with her presence, and an invisible pressure made the thrones tremble.

Yama straightened silently.

Zeus tightened his grip on Mjölnir, curious.

Shiva gave a cynical smile.

“Oh…

that was interesting.” But Odin was the first to rise.

From his throne, enshrouded in Norse runes, he descended a step-staff Gungnir in hand, his gaze cold.

“Seris D’Arkhan…” his voice boomed through the Colosseum.

“Mortals are not allowed in this council.” Seris merely arched an eyebrow, a smirk appearing.

“Mortals?” she said, stepping forward.

“Oh, Odin…

do not offend me.” It was enough for the Valkyries to appear.

From above, from among the golden columns, twelve figures descended on wings of light, their armor shimmering with the glow of runes.

Brynhildr, Göll, Reginleif, Thrud, Mist, Geirskögul, Randgríðr, Hrist, Hlökk, Göndul, Skuld, Alvitr, and Eir.

The twelve purest warriors of Valhalla.

Bearers of Odin’s will, guardians of the sky and war.

They formed a circle around Seris, weapons drawn.

Twelve spikes of power, each capable of wounding even a divine entity.

Zeus leaned forward, amused.

“This could end badly…” Suzanoo crossed her arms, silently watching.

Odin pointed his staff, the judgment rune lighting up in his left eye.

“Final warning, witch.

Leave now, while you still have flesh to call a body.” But Seris just looked at the Valkyries and sighed.

“I like you girls,” she murmured, almost tenderly.

“But not today.” In that instant, time stopped.

No…

it froze.

The air shattered into crystals.

The spears and swords stopped inches from Seris’s body-suspended in midair, motionless, as lilac sparks raced through the space between them.

The twelve Valkyries stood there for half a second, until their eyes rolled back and their bodies collapsed, limp, like puppets with cut strings.

The gods rose in unison.

The impact was instantaneous.

“What did she do?!” murmured a minor god of the West.

But before anyone could react, Seris gently moved her hand.

An ethereal, circular, translucent barrier appeared around the Valkyries’ bodies, preventing them from touching the ground.

With a gentle flick of her fingers, she floated the barrier to the opposite side of the Colosseum-and flung the twelve unconscious warriors straight at Odin.

Their bodies glided smoothly through the air, resting at the Norse god’s feet.

Seris looked at him and arched a sweet, dangerous smile.

“Take care of them.

They’re still useful to you, aren’t they?” Odin fell silent, his fist clenched on his staff.

The fury in his runic eye was like fire contained in ice.

But before he could speak, Seris’s voice shifted to another target.

“And you…” she said, slowly turning to Yama.

“So you’re the wretch who proposed this nonsense.” The entire Colosseum seemed to hold its breath.

Yama stood erect, serene.

Her smile faded, but her eyes-one gold and one black-gleamed intensely.

“Wretch,” is that it?” she repeated, her tone neutral.

“And yet you call yourself queen.” Seris crossed her arms, a malignant glow dancing around her body.

“I don’t ‘call myself’ queen, my dear.

I am.

Queen of the Witches.

And, unlike you, I don’t need cults or temples for my existence to be recognized.” A distant thunderclap echoed-a reflection of the tension.

Zeus watched, amused, like someone watching a duel between storms.

Shiva chuckled softly.

Suzanoo merely closed her eyes, but the slight smile on her lips showed she was enjoying the chaos.

Yama rose from her throne.

The shadows around her churned, like a raging sea.

The souls following her backed away, trembling.

“The truth remains true, Seris,” Yama said coldly.

“The balance between the planes is collapsing.” Seris smiled, but her laughter held no joy.

“Balance?” She took a step forward, and the shadows beneath her feet distorted into black flowers.

“Balance died long ago, Yama.

Of course, because of you.” Yama arched an eyebrow.

“From us?” “Yes.” Seris pointed her finger upward, toward the array of divine thrones.

“You ‘gods,’ sitting upon your perfect worlds, judging chaos as if you weren’t born of it.

You who create laws but never follow them.

Who speak of harmony while measuring who lives and who dies.” Her voice boomed, vibrating between the golden pillars.

“And now you want to play judge again, in a tournament where mortals are mere tokens on a board of divine vanity.” Her lilac gaze flashed with anger.

“And you still have the audacity to involve my daughters in this.

Witches are not toys for you.” Yama kept her gaze fixed on Seris.

No emotion on her face, only the cold control of one who has judged empires and nightmares with equal serenity.

“No one is asking you to participate, Seris.” Her voice sounded like steel under silk.

“You can simply…

ignore it.” She raised a hand, and black flames danced between her fingers like souls in penance.

“After all, that’s what witches do, isn’t it?

They ignore the call of the gods and continue to believe they’re not part of the web that sustains the world.” Seris arched an eyebrow, her eyes glinting dangerously.

“Ignore?” she repeated, laughter rising on her lips.

“Oh, dear Yama, are you still naive enough to think ignoring something makes you harmless?” The sarcastic tone echoed like a blade.

She turned her gaze upward, crossing her arms and scanning the stands filled with divine entities-dragons, seraphim, elemental gods, ancient spirits, and even some forms that defied any definition of being.

“This tournament bullshit…” she continued, each word dripping with venom.

“There’s always a ‘reward,’ isn’t there?” Her eyes-two abysses of crimson brilliance-focused on Zeus, there on the central throne, leaning back with Mjölnir over his shoulder.

“So tell me, oh lightning majesty…” she teased, a mocking smile appearing.

“What rubbish will they give you this time?

Another golden throne?

A new world to play with?

An ego inflated enough to blow up another universe?” The silence that followed was intense, piercing.

Even the air seemed to hesitate.

Zeus opened his mouth, but a laugh-musical, scandalously feminine-burst from the audience.

“Ahahahahah!” The sound echoed off the golden columns, and all eyes turned to its source.

From the midst of the divine crowd, a woman stood up-dazzling, shining like the sun itself.

Her golden skin reflected the light of the runes.

Her hair, long and luminous, seemed made of strands of liquid sunlight.

She wore a garment that oscillated between armor and silk-golden, provocative, absurdly detailed, as if the very heat of the sky bowed before her.

And her eyes…

two suns burning with pure malice.

Shiva raised an eyebrow, already recognizing the timbre of that laugh.

Zeus sighed in exasperation.

Suzanoo simply placed a hand on her forehead, as if she already knew what was coming.

Seris, curious, turned to face the intruder.

The woman stepped forward, smiling with the confidence typical of someone who knew all eyes were on her.

“Huh, no one’s going to answer the girl?” she said, tilting her head with false innocence.

“The queen asked a valid question, after all.” The silence lasted half a second-and then, as if the veil of her appearance had been torn away by pure amusement, her aura shimmered.

The golden skin glowed even brighter, the eyes became sun-like slits, and for an instant, the mischievous laugh took on a familiar shape.

Shiva snorted.

“It had to be you.” Yama, in turn, exhaled silently.

“Wukong.” The woman smiled a smile that could set entire kingdoms ablaze.

“The very one!” she replied, giving a small, theatrical bow, her golden hair falling over her shoulders.

“Or, if you prefer, ‘The Sage Equal to the Heavens.'” She winked.

“Only with much more style this time.” The entire Colosseum began to whisper, half perplexed, half amused.

Wukong, the sacred monkey, the trickster of a thousand kingdoms, the rebel who had once faced Heaven itself…

and who now, for pure pleasure, assumed the form of a stunning woman to participate in a divine debate.

Zeus leaned back in his throne, resting his chin on his hand.

“You can never keep quiet, can you?” “Of course not!” Wukong replied, laughing, sitting casually on the golden marble railing.

“Silence is for the dead and bureaucrats, and I haven’t become either yet.” She then looked directly at Seris, her gaze sparkling.

“To answer your question, witch queen…

the rule is simple.” She crossed her legs, the gold of her robe shining even brighter in the celestial light.

“The winner of the Celestial Tournament can impose a universal rule.

A single, absolute one.

And all the gods-all-will have to abide by it.

No exceptions.” A murmur ran through the Colosseum.

Even the elder gods shifted in discomfort.

This was the truth few dared to speak aloud.

Seris watched her with an impassive gaze, but the glint in her eyes betrayed a sudden interest.

“An absolute rule?” – she repeated slowly.

Wukong smiled.

“That’s right.

It could be anything.

From ‘humans will rule the heavens’ to ‘no one will die anymore.'” She shrugged.

“Or something more banal, like ‘Zeus can never wear leather pants again.'”