My Wives are Beautiful Demons - Chapter 602

Chapter 602: God of Destruction and the Messenger God
Susanoo tilted his head, his smile widening.

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

But before he could answer, a different sound overlaid the muffled roar of Cerberus—a heavy, rhythmic beat, almost like a tribal drum echoing through the walls of Erebus.

The gates, still open from Hercules’ passage, began to vibrate again, and a hot, dry wind blew through the hall. The torches danced violently, the flames flickering between gold and blue.

Wukong slowly closed his fan, his gaze narrowing. “Oh, no…”

Vergil noticed the tone in his voice. “Should I be worried?”

“It depends.” Wukong sighed, crossing his arms. “If he’s in a good mood, there might still be a roof left when he leaves.”

Ada looked between them, confused. “Who is ‘he’?”

Before anyone could answer, the ground began to tremble. A colossal shadow passed through the gate. There were no trumpets or statues announcing him—the very sound of the world seemed to bow before the approaching presence.

From the fire and dust emerged Shiva.

The God of Destruction walked barefoot on the black stones, and with each step, marks of blue and purple flames ignited beneath his feet. His skin, a deep shade of bluish-gray, seemed to reflect cosmic energy itself. He wore a black dhoti adorned with golden chains and a purple shawl that moved like living smoke.

His eyes—a vibrant gold in contrast to his serene face—swept across the hall with a calm that was more dangerous than anger.

Behind him, two young men accompanied him, both bearing the same divine and untamed air: Shira and Shura. Shira—the eldest—wore an open, gold and white robe, his long hair tied back with red ribbons. His lazy smile and sharp gaze resembled his father’s, but there was something more… insolent about him, almost theatrical.

Shura, the youngest, walked barefoot and bare-chested, with tattoos that gleamed like living runes on his dark skin. He carried two crossed tridents on his back and seemed restless, his eyes sparkling with a childish and dangerous enthusiasm.

“Father, I told you it would be fun,” Shira said with a wide smile, looking at the hall full of legendary figures. “Even the troublemaking monkey is here.”

Wukong raised his fan, sighing. “Look who’s talking… the son of the destroyer, the mini-disaster himself.”

Shura stepped forward, laughing. “Want to find out how mini I am, monkey?”

Shiva simply raised one hand, and the air immediately fell silent. The simple gesture was enough to silence his son and even make Wukong look away, muttering.

Ada stared, speechless. The energy emanating from him was not just divine—it was primordial. It was the calm before annihilation, the feeling of being before something that existed before creation.

Vergil observed him in silence, studying him with the analytical coldness of someone who recognizes an equal—or a possible enemy.

“You seem completely fed up with this,” he finally said. “Wouldn’t it be better to send a butler or something?” He questioned Shiva directly.

Shiva stopped in the center of the hall, slowly crossing his arms. His gaze fell on Vergil—and for a moment, only the distant sound of Cerberus’s chains filled the silence.

“Tsk. Messengers don’t know how to silence chaos,” he replied, his deep voice reverberating like muffled thunder. “And this place already smells of storm.” Susanoo raised an eyebrow, slightly offended. “If you’re referring to me, I wasn’t the one who brought the foaming dog. Hades should have left that thing alone.”

“So many places for this meeting, and Zeus chose here of all places,” Wukong said, fanning himself. “What a mess.”

Vergil let out a low chuckle. “Convenient.”

Ada, however, couldn’t take her eyes off Shiva. Something about his presence made her feel small—and that didn’t happen even in the presence of gods or kings.

“He… he looks tired,” she murmured, almost unconsciously.

And indeed, Shiva looked exhausted. Not weakened—bored. There was a weariness in his shoulders that came from ages, from repeated destructions and pointless rebirths.

“I didn’t want to be here,” he said finally. “But Vishnu insisted. Someone needs to balance the forces—and it seems no one else in my pantheon wanted to waste their time, so they dumped it all on my shoulders.”

Wukong gave an ironic smile. “Ah, of course. They sent the destroyer as a diplomat. That’ll work out well.”

Shira leaned against a column, laughing. “Father, they seem so civilized. I’m sure this won’t end in a bloodbath.”

Shura twirled one of the tridents in his hands, his eyes gleaming. “I hope it ends soon, I want to get back to training.”

Vergil looked at the two of them and then at their father. “If they take after you, it’s going to be a problem.”

Shiva stared at him expressionlessly. “They don’t take after me at all. It’s just that I haven’t erased them yet.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Even Hercules, who was watching from afar, raised his eyebrows.

Wukong whistled. “Still the same old paternal humor.”

Susanoo stretched out on top of the beam, resting his chin on his hand. “And they say the Eastern gods are more peaceful…”

Shiva sighed deeply, rubbing his temple. “I could be in Kailasa right now. Meditating. But no. I’m here, surrounded by armed egos and drooling three-headed dogs.”

Cerberus growled, as if he understood.

Vergil smiled. “At least it’s a good audience.”

Shiva’s golden eyes gleamed slightly—not with anger, but with recognition. “You’re the son of that… crazy demoness.”

Vergil blinked, confused for a moment.

“Hm? Crazy? I don’t know… my mother was always a very mysterious woman,” he replied, scratching his chin with a slight smile. “Now, if you’re talking about craziness, I think you’re confusing her with my wife.”

Shiva raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh, yes,” Vergil continued, completely oblivious to the growing tension around him. “She won the last tournament, so you’d better watch out. I can’t make a fool of myself in front of her, after all.”

The silence that followed was so thick that even Cerberus seemed to stop growling for a moment.

All eyes turned to him—Wukong with a strained smile, Susanoo with a look of pure curiosity, Hercules frowning… and Ada, behind him, with her arms crossed and an expression that wavered between weariness and jealousy.

Vergil looked around, genuinely confused.

“…What’s wrong?”

Ada sighed heavily, massaging her temple.

“You just said… that Sapphire is your wife.”

Vergil’s smile froze for a second.

He blinked, trying to mentally reorganize his own words, but the damage was already done.

Wukong was the first to laugh, covering his face with his fan. “Ah, I needed to see this. The great Vergil, tripping over his own wives.”

A metallic, sharp, and sudden sound—like a distorted bell—echoed through the hall, interrupting Wukong’s laughter and Vergil’s growing embarrassment.

Immediately afterwards, a golden whirlwind appeared near the gates, and a figure streaked through the air like a comet.

“HERE YOU ARE!” shouted Hermes, appearing amidst a gust of wind that scattered dust and sparks against the walls.

The messenger god landed gracefully (or almost), slipping slightly before straightening up and adjusting his winged hat. He was dressed in his typical white and gold attire, the caduceus strapped to his back and a huge smile plastered on his face.

“The party’s about to begin, everyone!” he announced excitedly, clapping his hands. “The great banquet of Erebus is about to begin, and guess who’s been tasked with fetching the most difficult group in all of Olympus? That’s right, me!”

Silence.

Nobody reacted.

Not a single applause. Not a flicker of interest.

Shiva simply crossed her arms, looking at him with the same expression as someone watching a rock that has decided to speak.

Wukong fanned himself slowly, as if the mere act of looking at Hermes already drained his will to live.

Susanoo rolled his eyes and lay down on the beam again.

Ada looked like she was about to ask if it was a joke.

And Vergil, arms crossed, simply muttered:

“Is that the messenger of the gods? I expected more… wings.”

Hermes blinked at him, offended. “Hey! They’re optional. Style is everything, my dear.”

Wukong let out a theatrical sigh. “Style is what you lack, clown.”

Hermes ignored him. “Anyway!” He raised his index finger, animated. “The event is about to begin, Zeus wants everyone in the main hall in five minutes! And I mean everyone—even you, Shiva, so you’d better not try to meditate or destroy anyone on the way!”

Shiva’s golden gaze slowly turned towards him. The air in the hall seemed to change—heavier, denser.

Hermes swallowed hard, his smile trembling slightly. “Hehe… I’m just kidding, of course. Destruction is cool… I mean, sometimes…”

Shura tilted his trident. “I vote we test if he’s fast enough to dodge.”

Shira agreed with a small smile. “Good idea, brother.”

“Oh, no, no, no!” Hermes began to back away slightly, his hands raised. “No tests, no tridents, I’m just the messenger! Thankless job, you know?”

Vergil smirked. “You’re the type who brings the bad news and runs away, right?”

“Exactly!” replied Hermes, not noticing the sarcasm. “Efficient communication, you know?”

Ada crossed her arms. “Then why are you still here?”

Hermes’ smile faltered a little. He looked around—Shiva was staring at him with deadly calm, Susanoo was slowly twirling his sword on his finger, Wukong was looking at him with homicidal boredom, and Cerberus was starting to growl again.

“Right… I guess you guys are… uh… busy.” Hermes took a step back. “I’ll just… leave the message and… be going, okay?”

“Good idea,” Susanoo murmured. “Before the dog mistakes you for an appetizer.”

Hermes laughed nervously. “Ah, great humor! That’s what I like to see! People smiling, a light atmosphere…”

Shura raised his trident and a spark of energy shot across the ground.

“Bye!” Hermes shouted, disappearing in a golden flash before the blow hit the spot where he had been standing.

The sound of the impact echoed, and a small smoking crater was left on the ground.

Shira chuckled. “He’s still fast.”

Wukong fanned himself, indifferent. “Fast, but annoying.”

Vergil sighed and adjusted his coat. “So… it looks like the party has started.” Ada looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “And will you be able to behave yourself?”

He smiled wryly. “Of course. I always behave… more or less.”