My Wives are Beautiful Demons - Chapter 607

Chapter 607: What will the charge be?
The entire hall trembled.

Dionysus’ charred and headless body was still emitting golden vapors when the sound of dragging chains echoed through Erebus. It was deep, metallic, and heavy—each clang seemed to come from the very heart of the underworld.

Virgil slowly turned his gaze.

The shadows parted, the ground darkened even further, and the temperature dropped so sharply that even the black flames around him flickered.

And then he appeared.

From the darkness behind the throne, a presence rose—so ancient, so vast, that for an instant, even the shadows themselves seemed to kneel.

A tall man with long, silver hair, wearing a black tunic adorned with chains of old gold. His eyes… two burning abysses, shining with a heavy, unchanging violet hue.

The aura emanating from him was not merely powerful.

It was absolute.

Death personified—cold, inevitable, silent.

When he took his first step, the marble of the floor cracked, and all the gods present—including Hercules—instinctively knelt.

Not out of fear.

But out of hierarchy.

It was the natural reaction in the presence of a sovereign who ruled even over fear.

Virgil felt that presence envelop him. It didn’t burn him, it didn’t crush him. But it observed.

Measuring.

Analyzing.

“So this is the man who made the hall of Erebus tremble,” the voice echoed, deep and distant, reverberating in every corner as if spoken within everyone’s mind.

“Hm… a demon… a touch of death and unholy fire.”

Hercules lowered his head.

“Lord Hades…” he murmured, “forgive what happened. He lost control. Dionysus provoked—”

“Silence.” The word was spoken calmly, but the force contained within it silenced even the air.

The echoes ceased. Even the fire seemed to show respect. Hercules, despite hating Olympus, had a great sense of responsibility. And Dionysus’s death was so… simple that for a brief moment, he reverted to being the demigod he was before completing his labors.

Hades raised his gaze to Vergil, and for an instant, time seemed to stop.

The shadow dragon behind the Demon King recoiled, growling softly, instinctively.

The god of death observed him for a long time, and then gave a slight smile.

“Interesting…” he murmured, “I haven’t felt something like this in ages. Your soul… is a battlefield, young man.”

Vergil remained firm, even with the spiritual pressure crushing every cell of his body.

“And you must be Hades.”

“I am,” replied the god, serene. “The guardian of what you call the end.”

Hercules tried to intervene, but Hades raised a hand—and the hero was silenced, his voice literally ripped from his throat.

“Vergil Lucifer…” Hades pronounced the name as if savoring it. “You destroyed a god in my hall. And yet… I feel no anger.”

Vergil raised an eyebrow. “So you’re more reasonable than the others.”

Hades chuckled softly. The sound was cold and beautiful, like metal breaking.

“Reasonable? No. Just… curious.”

He took a step forward. With each movement, the shadows on the ground shifted, and the souls trapped in Erebus—invisible, but felt—whispered in unison, murmuring Hades’ name like an eternal mantra.

“You speak of love, of principles, of honor. And yet, you kill without hesitation.”

Hades’ voice sounded almost like that of a judge, not accusing, merely stating.

“You are… contradictory.”

Vergil stared at him, unwavering.

“I’m human enough to feel anger, and demonic enough to act when provoked.” Vergil retorted and sighed. “You’re not going to punish me? Then lower that aura. You’re making my Ada feel scared.”

As he spoke these words, Vergil’s deep red eyes gleamed like rubies, and his demonic energy surged even higher when he felt his beloved trembling.

“Oh, pardon me,” Hades said.

The air was already saturated—heavy with power and veiled intentions. Hades’ presence, even restrained, made the entire space feel narrower, darker. Vergil remained motionless, his posture undisturbed, even with the weight of divine authority piling upon his shoulders.

But then, the silence was broken.

“He killed an Olympian god!” The sharp voice came from the left, echoing between the pillars. Hermes, the messenger of the gods, the swiftest and most insolent among them, appeared in a golden flash, a mocking smile on his lips. “And inside Erebus, no less! Hades, my dear, if we don’t punish him, what will the others say? That any demon can enter our halls and do whatever he wants?”

He twirled the caduceus in his fingers, and the sound of hissing wings filled the air. “I propose a just punishment. Something that will serve as an example.”

Vergil didn’t even move. But the look… the look was enough to make the ground beneath Hermes crack in black lines, as if the earth itself refused to support him.

“You are welcome to try, Olympian louse,” Vergil replied with a voice as cold as ice, and the black flames behind him responded to the tone—rising in spirals that resembled hands wanting to tear the very air.

Hermes, however, only gave a short laugh. “Hot temper. I understand why the mortal likes you.”

Before he could complete the provocation, a gust of wind lifted him off the ground—an invisible blow that threw him against an obsidian column, shattering it like glass.

Shiva had moved.

The Hindu god kept his three eyes open, and the energy emanating from him was calm, yet absolutely dominant.

“Enough, Hermes,” he said in a neutral tone, yet loaded with authority. “You know that Dionysus provoked this man. And you know what happens when someone like him is provoked. He is a King, just like some of us here. You know very well the temperament of a King.”

Susanoo appeared shortly after, with a dry laugh, his sword sheathed at his waist. “Shiva is right. Dionysus has always been a drunken idiot. He reaped what he sowed. Vergil only did what many of us have already wished to do.”

The words caused murmurs among those present. Some gods exchanged glances, uncertain. Hermes wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, laughing softly.

“So that’s it? The council of deities now defends murderers?”

“Murderer?” — The voice that echoed now was different. Pure, crystalline, and yet, laden with cruel amusement.

All eyes turned to the second floor.

Leaning against the balcony railing, with her elbow resting on the banister, was a woman of unsettling presence. The smile that curved her lips was too serene, the kind of serenity that only those who fear nothing can display. Her eyes changed color with the light of the hall—sometimes golden, sometimes violet, sometimes crimson—as if reflecting all the deaths she had witnessed.

Yama.

The Judge of Souls.

One of the entities that Vergil really wanted to meet, since Wukong wants so much to prevent whatever she wants to do.

She tilted her head, observing the scene from above.

“I feel that killing a god is a grave blasphemy,” she said, her voice velvety and firm. “And, as such, there should be punishment. I’m sure there are rules for this, right, Hades?”

The question was a veiled provocation. The words floated in the air, cold and relentless.

But before Hades could answer, a soft laugh broke the tense atmosphere.

“You are wrong, Yama.”

The voice came from a figure seated on one of the side thrones—an ethereal-looking woman with black hair streaked with blue, and a distant gaze that seemed to pierce through time. She raised a goblet of wine, swirling the scarlet liquid before taking a sip.

“The act of a mortal killing a god,” she continued, “has no rules whatsoever. After all…”—her eyes slowly turned to Vergil—”…mortals cannot kill gods.”

That simple sentence froze the air.

Everyone turned to Vergil.

The collective gaze—of gods, warriors, and entities—fell upon him like blades.

Hercules narrowed his eyes. Shiva maintained a neutral expression, but one of his arms moved in a discreet gesture of observation. Even Hades seemed curious.

One of the competitors, a small man with a humble appearance but with an energy of pure justice radiating from his body, stepped forward.

“So… how?” he asked, his voice firm but filled with disbelief. “How did you kill a god, demon?”

Vergil averted his gaze to the charred body of Dionysus. The black flames had already ceased, leaving only the golden smoke that slowly dissolved into the air—as if Erebus himself were digesting him.

“‘How,’ is that what you want to know?” he asked, his voice laden with disdain.

He took a step forward, and the sound echoed throughout the hall.

“Who cares about that?”

The murmurs instantly ceased.

Vergil continued, his tone cold and natural, as if explaining something too obvious to be questioned:

“He’s a god, right? An immortal.” He slightly tilted his head, gazing at the ruined body. “So, what really matters? He will be reborn. They always are reborn. As long as there is a single fool who raises a glass of wine and toasts the name of Dionysus… he will return.” Virgil looked around, his fiery gaze flashing between the gods and warriors.

“From this perspective, even if they want to punish me, what will the accusation be? That I killed something immortal? That I wounded a god who harassed my wife? Good luck, I’d love to know what the accusation will be.”