My Wives are Beautiful Demons - Chapter 593

593: Bad Feeling 593: Bad Feeling The golden corridor of the Temple of a Thousand Echoes trembled softly under the distant sound of celestial hammers-the Builder Gods were shaping the arena of the Celestial Tournament, and the very air vibrated with divine energy.

Between the gleam of the columns and the reflection of the statues, walked two unlikely figures: Sun Wukong, the Monkey King-today, in his female humanoid form-and Buddha, the man who had abandoned Nirvana for a pair of comfortable sandals and an endless supply of irony.

Wukong looked like she had stepped out of a golden dream.

Her long blonde hair fell in loose waves, the strands reflecting the temple’s light as if they were made of liquid sun.

Her clothes-a luxurious Chinese outfit, with red and gold details-swayed elegantly with each step.

There was a wild lightness in her movements, as if even in human form, the spirit of the monkey still lived beneath her skin.

Buddha, on the other hand, was a complete contrast.

Linen pants, a white tank top, a wooden bead necklace hanging over his tanned chest.

A high bun held back his long, golden-brown hair, and his blue eyes-serene and mocking-shone with a mixture of wisdom and sarcasm.

He looked Wukong up and down and let out a muffled laugh.

“Are you serious?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Is this your ‘meditation form’?” Wukong lifted her chin, smiling wryly.

“Humanity likes pretty faces.

I adapted.” Buddha snorted.

“Pretty?” He gestured at her exaggeratedly.

“You look like you stepped out of a celestial beauty pageant.

Gold in your hair, fiery eyes, curves meticulously calculated to distract even a blind monk.” Wukong only laughed, unfazed.

“The world has changed, Buddha.” If you want to be heard, you need a way that the world wants to look at you.

Buddha stopped walking, blinking a few times in disbelief.

“Wow…” he said, crossing his arms.

“I never thought I’d live long enough to hear you talking about human adaptation.” “The Monkey King who once declared war on the entire Heaven because he wouldn’t accept authority… now cares about aesthetics and popular approval.” He tilted his head, his tone somewhere between amused and genuinely intrigued.

“What the hell happened to you, Wukong?” For a moment, the smile on her face disappeared.

Wukong walked to the edge of the window, resting her hands on the golden sill.

Below, a vast expanse of lights spread out-gods of the forge, elemental spirits, and celestial builders were raising the arena walls, shaping them with fire, wind, and lightning.

The distant roar of divine tools mingled with the murmur of energy currents.

It was magnificent.

It was beautiful.

And, somehow, it was terrifying.

Wukong remained silent for a few seconds before speaking, her voice low, almost like a whispered thought.

“I have a bad feeling.” The tone made Buddha stop.

He was used to Wukong’s mocking arrogance-to the laughter that mocked even gods.

But now… there was something different.

A real weight in the words.

He took a step forward, observing her face reflected in the glass.

“You’re not kidding, are you?” Wukong shook her head slowly.

“I never joke when I feel something like this.” She looked at the horizon, where the glow of the arena pulsed like a living heart.

“The gods are too excited.

This tournament… it should be a spectacle, a distraction, a game of strength between the realms.

But there’s something wrong with the way Heaven is moving.” She paused, her eyes narrowing.

– Especially what has happened for a rule like that to be approved.

I was joking, but… The administrator won’t take this very well.

Joke or not, the winner will be able to dictate the rules.

Buddha crossed his arms, his expression now more serious.

“I found it strange that something like this was allowed, but I didn’t question it because I have no interest.

I and the other Buddhas don’t follow the rules anyway… but…” Wukong averted his gaze, and for an instant, the golden fire in his irises seemed colder.

“I won’t follow any rules, but the weaker ones certainly will.” The silence between the two became heavy.

Outside, thunder echoed-not the sound of a storm, but the clash of pure energy, the signature of a god of creation shaping something colossal.

Buddha took a deep breath, his gaze steady.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you worried about anything, Wukong.

That makes me more nervous than I’d like to admit.” Wukong gave a slight smile, but didn’t answer.

The breeze swept through the corridor, swaying her golden hair, and for a moment, it seemed as if the wind was trying to whisper something that even the wisest could not understand.

“I wanted to be at peace so as not to worry him,” she said after a while.

“But it seems Yama really wants something.” Buddha raised an eyebrow.

“I imagined…

so it really is Yama.” Wukong glanced sideways at Buddha, the golden gleam in his eyes reflecting the lights coming from the arena below.

“I would prefer it to be Odin’s hunger for knowledge…” he murmured, his tone low and heavy with exhaustion.

“Or even Lucifer would be easier to deal with than a goddess of death like Yama.” She let out a long sigh, the kind that carries more centuries than words.

“Anyway, I just wanted to warn you,” she concluded, without taking her eyes off the horizon.

Buddha remained silent for a few moments, analyzing her expression.

Then he scratched his chin, thoughtfully, before replying: “I’ll keep the Buddhas alert…” he said, his tone calm but firm.

“And I’ll pass on your suspicions.” A slight smile appeared on his lips.

“Of course, I won’t even mention your name.” Wukong turned to him, the corner of his mouth lifting in a brief, sincere smile.

“I’m glad you understand,” he replied.

“If I were the first to raise this kind of suspicion, no one would believe the ‘God Slayer’.” For a moment, the title seemed to weigh in the air, like an uncomfortable reminder.

Then, Wukong raised one hand and pointed to his own head-more precisely, to the golden crown embedded in his forehead.

“And, anyway, I couldn’t do anything even if I wanted to…

not with this here.” Buddha’s expression softened.

He knew that piece well-and what it meant.

The crown that had once served to contain the Monkey King’s fury was now a prison, preventing him from raising a hand against any deity.

A cruel reminder that even the most rebellious of beings could be bound by the fear of the gods.

“I imagine how much that must gnaw at you,” Buddha commented softly.

Wukong laughed, but the sound was hollow.

“More than you think,” he said.

“And that’s exactly why I asked for help from another.” Buddha raised an eyebrow.

“Another?” “Vergil,” he replied without hesitation.

“Of all the names on that list…

he’s the only one who can truly face a god on equal footing.” Buddha observed him in silence for a moment, and something in his gaze shifted-an almost imperceptible recognition.

“So that’s what you’re betting on,” he concluded.

Wukong crossed his arms, looking again at the golden sky above the battlefield under construction.

“Betting?

No,” he said with a slight smile.

“I simply recognize a predator when I see one.” The last words floated in the air, echoing softly among the temple bells.

… The late afternoon sun filtered through the mansion windows, gilding the room with a warm glow.

Vergil sat on the living room sofa, with Raphaeline nestled in his arms-her head resting on his chest, her fingers idly playing with the collar of his shirt.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve been like this…” she murmured, in that gentle, almost childlike tone.

Vergil smiled slightly and kissed the top of her head.

“Yes, too long,” he replied, closing his eyes for a moment, savoring the sweet scent of her hair.

“Life has been…

too noisy.” She gave a small, muffled laugh.

“Noisy is an understatement…” Silence settled for a moment, comfortable, until Raphaeline sighed.

“I’m worried about this tournament,” she finally said.

“It’s strange…

something of this scale just happening out of nowhere.” Vergil opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling as if trying to decipher an invisible enigma.

“I think so too,” he admitted.

“But I hope it’s just what they say: a tournament, nothing more.

A divine spectacle to feed the egos of the gods and entertain mortals.” He placed his hand on her face and made her look at him.

“If everything goes well, it will end quickly.

And we’ll go back to our peaceful routine.” Raphaeline bit her lower lip, a sign of hesitation.

“And what if it doesn’t end quickly?” she asked.

“What if it’s not just a tournament?” Vergil gave a slight smile, the kind that hides more thoughts than it reveals.

“Then I’m curious to know what happens if we win.” She blinked, surprised by the way he said that-half joking, half serious.

“Win?” she repeated, resting her forehead against his chin.

“Do you think there’s anything to gain besides a headache?” “There always is,” he replied, without changing his tone.

– Even if it’s just information.

Raphaeline fell silent, thoughtful.

Her gaze wandered to the floor until she spoke again, more softly: “In the last tournament…

it was Sapphire who won.” Vergil raised an eyebrow.

“Sapphire?

Our Sapphire?” “The one and only.” Raphaeline confirmed.

“But she didn’t win anything concrete.

No prize, no blessing.

What we gained was…

recognition.” “Recognition?” Vergil repeated, curious.

Raphaeline nodded.

“Before that, demons were treated as aberrations.

After her victory, the celestial council began to recognize us as a legitimate faction.” She paused and looked at him.

“And that’s why the underworld changed.” Vergil gave a slight smile.

“So…

that’s how demons started to be seen as something more than just a walking curse.” “Exactly.” she said, with a sigh.

“Before Sapphire, demons were nothing.

But her victory gave a voice to the rejected – to all those who were trapped between hell and heaven.” Vergil was silent for a few moments, processing.

His eyes drifted for a moment to the window, observing the reflection of the sunset.

“Funny…” he murmured.

“Even a divine game can rewrite the world.” Raphaeline looked up at him, smiling faintly.

“Well, let’s focus on the now.

Let’s spend some time together before the chaos begins again.” Vergil smiled, “Yes, you’re right,” he said.