My Wives are Beautiful Demons - Chapter 603

Chapter 603: Does anyone want to crash this event?
The last golden sparks of Hermes’ teleportation vanished into the air, and for a brief moment, the hall was plunged into an almost respectful silence.

Then, a deep, resonant sound echoed through the corridors of Erebus—silver and bronze trumpets, vibrating in unison, making the ground tremble. The flames of the torches bowed, as if an ancient and powerful presence were passing through the gates.

The enormous obsidian doors slowly opened, revealing the couple who, at least in theory, were the hosts of that divine gathering: Hades and Persephone.

Hades walked with his usual imposing posture—tall, pale as marble, wrapped in a black cloak with silver threads that resembled the gleam of ashes under the moon. His eyes, a deep and icy blue, swept across the hall like the gaze of a king measuring the worth of each soul present.

Beside him, Persephone was a complete contrast. She wore a long dress in shades that oscillated between wine and gold, and each step she took caused small flowers of shadows to sprout from the ground—beautiful and lethal. Her gaze was serene, but her power was palpable.

The two crossed the hall under the… indifferent gazes of most of the guests.

Some gods simply didn’t move. Others didn’t even interrupt their conversations. The music of Erebus was the clinking of glasses and the sound of held breaths.

Vergil, leaning against a column with Ada beside him, watched the entrance with a half-mocking smile.

“For someone who considers himself the epitome of royalty,” he murmured, in a low tone, “arriving last is quite… incompatible.”

Ada sighed, without even bothering to hide her weariness.

“Please, don’t start.”

“What?” he asked, raising his hands slightly. “It’s just an observation.” “An observation that might leave you headless,” she retorted.

Wukong, who was a few steps away from them, let out a short, muffled laugh.

“The young lady is right. Let the king of the dead play at being majestic.” He closed his fan with a snap. “I, on the other hand, am going up to the second floor.”

Vergil turned his head, curious. “Running away from the party?”

“Exploring,” Wukong corrected with a sly smile. “Erebus’s palace changes shape according to the guests, and some floors only appear when certain gods are present. If you want to truly experience the underworld, this is the moment.”

Vergil tilted his head, thoughtful. “Hmm… interesting. But I think I’ll take a walk first. I want to meet some of the competitors—and then find this Yama.”

Wukong raised an eyebrow. “Yama?” He laughed, shaking his head. “Good luck. Just… don’t irritate anyone.”

“Me? Irritate?” Vergil put on a look of feigned innocence. “Never.”

Wukong sighed. “Right… but if you run into Dionysus, then you can irritate him as much as you want.”

Vergil blinked, confused. “Wait, why?”

“Long story,” the Monkey King replied, already turning to climb the spiral staircase. “It involves wine, insults, and an indecent statue of me made of grapes.”

Ada frowned. “…What?”

“Don’t even ask.” Wukong raised a hand in farewell. “Have fun. And don’t touch anything that shines too brightly.”

Vergil watched the monkey disappear to the upper floor, and then looked at Ada, a mischievous smile forming.

“Well… I think he just gave me the best tip of the night.”

Ada crossed her arms. “Which one?” “‘Enjoy yourself,'” he replied, already walking towards the center of the hall, where groups of deities and heroes were beginning to gather.

Ada sighed and followed him from a distance, while on the central throne Hades finally sat down, his cold, distant gaze observing the silent chaos of his own court.

Persephone, beside him, smiled slightly—a smile as serene as it was dangerous.

And the banquet of Erebus was only just beginning.

The main hall of Erebus was filled with a spectral glow—the kind of light that didn’t come from fire, but from the divine energy condensed in the air. It was like walking inside an ancient dream, among echoes of ages and powers that hated each other, but pretended civility for one night.

Vergil crossed the hall with calm steps, his gaze attentive and curious. Ada followed close behind, observing everything with an expression of someone who would rather be anywhere else.

With each step, the half-demon saw fragments of power, figures known only from legends and scriptures—now casually conversing among goblets of ambrosia and steaming plates of divine meat.

Just to the left, two Norsemen laughed loudly, clinking heavy cups that seemed to be made of solid ice.

Thor was among them, his beard disheveled and Mjolnir resting on the ground as if it were a simple mug. Beside him, Týr, the god of war, observed everything with a more restrained gaze, but the air around him still seemed to vibrate with combat.

Further on, a group of Egyptians occupied a gilded table. Anubis spoke in a low voice with Horus, who wore golden armor that reflected the hall’s lights in sharp beams. The two seemed bored—perhaps by nature, perhaps because the Greek underworld wasn’t exactly the kind of environment that pleased them.

In another corner, Odin exchanged words with Vishnu, both with neutral expressions, but their eyes carried a thousand invisible calculations. Between them, the air seemed heavy enough to split reality in two.

“They’re not the real ones… what a strange joke these disguised Valkyries are,” Vergil said, seeing through their illusion; he was clearly seeing women and not Odin, Thor, and the like… Besides, many there would hate each other.

Ada looked at it all and sighed, bored.

“I don’t see anything special. Just another bunch of divine egos pretending to be polite.”

Vergil gave a slight, wry smile. “Yeah, maybe…”

But then he stopped.

The smile vanished. His gaze fixed in one direction, his body instinctively becoming motionless.

Ada noticed. “What’s wrong?”

Vergil didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were fixed on two presences that didn’t belong in that environment.

While everyone else seemed to share the same heavy, ethereal air of Erebus, these two figures broke the harmony. It was like looking at fire and ice coexisting—not touching, but repelling each other so strongly that the space around them seemed to deform.

The first was a woman with very pale skin, long white hair down to her waist, wearing a gray cloak that seemed to dissolve into the shadows. Her eyes were a dull red, and a necklace of thin bones adorned her neck. When she spoke to the other, her voice was inaudible—it was as if the sound was swallowed by the environment.

The second presence, however, was the absolute opposite. A tall man, with hair the color of liquid gold, his body enveloped in a white tunic that radiated a subtle light. His eyes had the gleam of the sun reflected on water—serene, yet inhuman.

Vergil could feel their contrast in the air. Death and life. Light and darkness. Something ancient—perhaps even older than the pantheons.

Ada watched him, frowning. “Who are they?”

Vergil narrowed his eyes, almost without blinking.

“I’m not sure… but…”—he smiled slightly—”I feel they are not simple gods.”

The woman turned her face slightly, as if she had heard his name being thought. Her red eyes met Vergil’s—and, for an instant, time seemed to stop.

An invisible pressure spread through the hall, subtle, but enough to make the air vibrate as if an electric current ran through it.

Vergil maintained his steady gaze, the corner of his mouth lifting in an almost provocative smile.

Ada swallowed hard, feeling the weight of that simple contact. “Vergil… who is she?”

He let out a soft sigh, his hand touching the invisible hilt of Yamato, feeling the blade vibrate in its subspace.

“…Trouble.”

Before Ada could insist, a metallic clink echoed from afar—the sound of a goblet striking Hades’ throne.

“Let the guests take their places,” announced the king of the underworld, his voice amplified by magic. “The banquet of Erebus will begin.”

Vergil looked away, but the woman and the man still watched him, motionless.

…

[In a not-so-distant place…]

The air there was completely different: light, warm, imbued with the scent of flowers and nectar. The distant sound of harps echoed between the white marble columns, and translucent clouds lazily snaked between the suspended temples.

But the divine serenity was broken by a scream.

“HESTIA, FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE, TELL ME WHERE HE IS!”

The voice was firm, melodious, and filled with despair.

Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, descended the steps of her temple, almost tripping over her own pink tunic, her loose golden hair swaying in waves as she gesticulated furiously with one hand. Her tanned skin gleamed under the golden light of the Olympian sun, and her honey-colored eyes trembled between supplication and fury.

Before her, standing in front of a small altar enveloped in calm flames, was Hestia—the most serene of the goddesses.

Red-haired, with a gentle expression and simple clothes, she held a bowl of sacred fire in her hands. The tranquil gaze she cast upon Aphrodite contrasted completely with the other’s emotional chaos.

“Aphrodite…” Hestia said in a low tone, her voice sweet and warm like the very fire she kept burning. “You’ve been shouting since you arrived.”

“I know!” Aphrodite retorted, her eyes welling up with tears. “But I need to talk to Hercules, now!”

Hestia sighed softly, lowering her gaze to the flame dancing between her fingers.

“The Erebus event has already begun. You can’t just show up there uninvited.”

“I don’t care about invitations!” Aphrodite interrupted, her golden hair falling over her face as she approached the redhead. “I need to talk to him! Yesterday!!!”