My Wives are Beautiful Demons - Chapter 612

Chapter 612: Judgment Cut End
An inexhaustible source of demonic energy—that was Vergil’s body.

Long ago, as Sapphire had foreseen, he had reached a point of stagnation. The so-called “Divine Body of the Celestial Demon,” as she had named it, possessed clear biological limits, barriers that not even chaos seemed capable of breaking.

However… now, something was changing.

A colossal torrent of draconic energy flowed into his body, rewriting every cell, every fragment of his existence.

In the universe, nothing is purer than the power of dragons.

This energy is born neither from life nor from death. It is the principle of creation itself, the primordial spark that shaped the worlds when the first being…

the Great Dragon, Great Red, awoke and ordered chaos.

Not even the gods compare to the dragons.

They are the pinnacle of existence, the balance between Creation and Annihilation. What is power to a god is merely breath to a dragon.

And, in that instant, Vergil’s body was bathed in this forbidden essence.

Two Dragon Empresses

Nivara, the Platinum Dragon Empress, and Crymsaria, the Crimson Dragon Empress… united their wills for the first time in countless ages.

Two opposing forces, eternal rivals, poured their power upon a single being.

Because, for the first time, Vergil was worthy of bearing the absolute weight of the Dragons.

“This is not good at all.” The voice echoed within Vergil’s spiritual domain… the World Tree, his inner guardian, watched the soul of its host with concern.

Before it, the representation of Vergil’s soul was an immense pulsating sphere in shades of red and black, which began to deform. Ice crystals and flames intertwined, infiltrating his essence like threads of living energy.

Itharine, the Shadow Dragon, stood beside the Tree, her eyes fixed on the scene. Despite its magnitude, she showed no alarm.

“Rest assured,” she said with a slight smile, her voice heavy with conviction. “My master is destined to be the Absolute of this world.”

It wasn’t blind faith, but a constructed certainty.

Itharine understood that Vergil knew no real limits; only momentary obstacles, which he inevitably destroyed.

Nivara, the Platinum Empress, approached, her icy, analytical gaze fixed on the center of that chaotic soul.

“Ah…” she murmured, as if finally deciphering a riddle. “So that’s why we were suddenly sealed in here.”

She raised her arm and pointed to the core of the soul.

Crymsaria followed her gesture, and when she saw it, her eyes widened.

“Damn it…” she whispered, almost in disbelief.

In the heart of Vergil’s soul, a colossal black hole was forming, devouring everything and converting it into something new.

Something that shouldn’t exist.

The resulting energy wasn’t ordinary demonic energy. It was something denser, more ancient… something that vibrated at the frequency of primordial chaos itself.

Crymsaria took a step back, feeling her skin burn.

“Shit… he’s a fucking—” Nivara interrupted herself abruptly, unable to complete the thought.

The two Dragon Empresses looked at each other… and, for an instant, both felt the same divine shiver run down their spines.

Whatever Vergil was becoming…

Looking from the outside, Vergil’s body calmly rose, leaning on Ada, who was worried by Vergil’s expression. He slowly released her arm.

“It’s alright,” he said as a layer of ice began to heal his wound and a layer of fire slowly healed the damage to his body. “I’m fine.”

Wukong, “Boy, it’s best we stop here.” She said, approaching and placing her hand on his shoulder.

Vergil looked to the side and saw that she had a worried expression. Quite different from the playful person he knew.

Vergil smiled, “No, it’s alright.”

His words were quite calm for someone who seemed like he was going to kill everyone and everything at any moment. The serene look was completely strange. It was as if… nothing mattered.

“Are you alright?” Vergil asked Ada, holding her hand and checking with his energy the entire body of the woman he loved so much. For a second, he remembered the day he met her, with the curse affecting his body and them kissing for the first time. He let out a small smile before placing his hand on her head.

“It’s alright, what a relief,” he said, letting out a calm sigh and closing his eyes for a few seconds, letting a warm, icy breath escape his mouth.

He then stood up completely.

The hall still vibrated with echoes of the chaos when Vergil searched with his eyes for that which he trusted most besides himself and Ada: Wukong. The monkey’s presence was an island of insubordination in the sea of ​​tense deities—and, therefore, perfect.

“I’d like to know the rules for attacks outside of the tournament. Is there one, Wukong?” He asked, aiming at the only face that, at that moment, truly interested him.

Wukong raised his fan, arched his eyebrows, and looked at him with a mixture of confusion and amusement. Then he replied, in that voice that seemed playful even when serious: “No participant may attack another competitor in an unfair or unfounded dispute.”

Vergil nodded slightly in confirmation, accepting the sentence as if he already knew the answer. “Even though I wasn’t wrong, I was punished. I hope he will be too,” he said directly to Yama, each word sharp as a blade.

Ryōmen, who remained there with a defiant smile, retorted without hesitation: “Wow, and I thought you’d want to fight.”

Vergil didn’t even bother to return the provocation. His eyes met another person—the authority who would decide the fate of that provocation. “I’m not talking to her dog,” he murmured coldly. “Come on, answer.”

Yama stroked the edge of the balcony as if savoring the dilemma. She watched Ryōmen grow irritated, watched Vergil slowly recover, and pondered as one weighs destinies. After a moment, her voice slid in, slow and firm: “Of course, what do you suggest?”

Vergil leaned forward, fixing her with a clean, cutting request. “Just retribution. He gave me an attack without a chance to defend myself, so I want to do the same. It’s fair, don’t you think?”

Yama assessed the demon’s breathing rhythm, felt the oscillation of his energy—still recovering, still dangerous—and calculated the balance between just retribution and irreversible chaos. After all, Vergil had returned on foot, bloodied, and yet still overwhelming. Finally, with the serene authority that befitted him, he nodded. “All right.”

The smile that rose to Vergil’s face was short, almost predatory. “Let’s go to the Arena,” he pointed, as if indicating the inevitable next step. “It’s just one strike, right?” He looked at Wukong, preparing the ground.

“I was going to ask you to seal his energy at 25%, just like me. But I’d just like to ask you to keep an eye out in case he tries to dodge.” Vergil said, and there was an absolute coldness in the request. “If he tries to dodge, kill him instantly for breaking the rules and refusing punishment.”

Wukong understood the tone without precise explanations—the agreement was implicit between the two: limits would be imposed, and violating them would have an ultimate cost. The monkey smiled slightly, amused by the role he had been entrusted with.

‘Boy… it seems you and I are in the same boat now. I can’t kill Yama and you can’t kill this Ryōmen guy… So you’re giving me the chance to fulfill the agreement this way before the tournament… what a fun devil.’ Wukong thought.

Then he spoke loudly so everyone could hear, raising the staff that emerged from his hand, “Does anyone disagree? If he tries to dodge, I will kill him instantly.”

No one said anything. They only nodded.

Vergil walked unhurriedly through the passage that led back to the arena—his steps calm, his coat fluttering like a shadow that no longer needed to hide.

The ground still trembled slightly under the marks of the previous battle; the cracks glowed with the aftermath of the energy that had been released there.

Around them, the stands buzzed with anticipation: gods whispered, silent bets were being made, and the air vibrated like strings about to snap.

“Initially I thought, how could someone under a hundred years old have such power?” Vergil began to speak as he walked.

Vergil crossed the central circle with controlled steps and continued.

“I myself am an aberration that even the most powerful Demons would admit. So when I heard your name I thought: A legend?” Vergil continued as his sword began to be unsheathed.

“You know, Yama, I liked the idea of ​​stealing someone’s body and putting the soul of a mythological being like Ryomen Sukuna inside. Seriously, I thought it was incredible the idea of ​​using a body under 100 years old, molding it with flesh magic and placing a powerful being inside.”

Vergil spoke smiling before commenting, “It’s a shame your opponent has many cards up his sleeve.”

On the other side, Ryōmen stood, imposing as a living statue. His four arms were crossed over his chest in a gesture of complete disdain, his four eyes analyzing Vergil with predatory curiosity. His upper mouth curved into a cruel smile; the mouth at his waist gnashed teeth as if savoring the anticipation.

“You talk too much, and I was expecting you to want to fight? Tsk, coward.”

The taunt rolled through the arena, provoking laughter, some muffled, others nervous. Ryōmen seemed to revel in the contrast between expectation and reality.

Ryōmen crossed his four arms more firmly, an image of absolute bodily control. He looked at Vergil with two golden eyes that gleamed like blades, and then, with the calm of execution, declaimed:

“Attack already. Coward.”

The air in the arena stilled. No sound, no movement—only the restrained breath of gods who, for the first time in ages, felt something they did not understand. Vergil looked at Ryōmen… and laughed.

A hoarse, tired laugh, but laden with something deeply unsettling.

“Hahaha…” he lowered his gaze for a moment, the dried blood on his chin, his coat torn, and yet, his presence was impossible to ignore. “You’re quite pathetic.”

The sound of Vergil’s voice echoed in a distorted way, as if the very space reverberated with arrogance.

Ryōmen frowned, his four eyes flashing with anger. But before he could answer, something changed.

The pressure in the air broke.

Vergil raised his face—and, for the first time since the beginning of the fight, stopped holding back what was inside him.

The energy began to escape.

Slowly, first like a sigh, then like a wave.

A demonic, ancient roar echoed throughout the arena—the ground cracked, space vibrated, and columns of pure demonic energy exploded beneath his feet, rising to the ceiling of the Celestial Coliseum.

“But I must be grateful,” said Vergil, his voice now deep, reverberating in multiple frequencies, almost as if several versions of him were speaking at once.

Yama’s eyes widened. The sensation was identical to being trapped inside a collapsing star—an energy so concentrated that it warped the very concept of “reality” around her.

And then, she understood.

“He… he deceived us.”

Vergil wasn’t exhausted. He was storing energy—accumulating it, compressing it to absurd levels while everyone believed his strength had vanished.

The black and red flames surrounding him began to mingle with golden and draconic currents, pulsing like living hearts, each beat echoing like the sound of a thousand swords being drawn.

Ada, at the edge of the arena, shouted “VERGIL!”

But he didn’t hear her.

The entire world was being swallowed by his presence.

The pillars began to crumble. The very ground cracked and folded in on itself, as if gravity had gone mad. The sky darkened, the entire Colosseum plunged into a crimson eclipse—and, for an instant, everyone felt the same thing: the premonition that their very existence was being severed.

Vergil looked at Wukong and said, with an almost cruel calm,

“Wukong, stay alert. He’ll try to escape.”

The Monkey King grinned sideways, his staff already at the ready. “Heh. Don’t worry. If he tries… I’ll crush him.”

Vergil nodded, turning to the center of the arena. “Then I begin.”

Energy concentrated around him, forming a sphere that swallowed light, matter, and sound. The wind vanished. Silence became absolute.

And then, a whisper. “I might cut the dimension… so be careful, Hades.”

The God of the Underworld swallowed hard. “You will what…?”

Vergil moved his right foot, turning his body. Yamato partially slid from its sheath—a thin sound, like a tear in reality.

Time stopped.

Space distorted.

Ryōmen’s gaze shifted from arrogance to pure instinct—something ancient, a feeling even gods recognize: inevitable death.

Vergil took a deep breath. His entire body glowed blue, red, and black. Draconic and demonic energy mingled in an impossible flow.

He murmured, without raising his voice:

“Judgment Cut…” Yamato vanished from its sheath. “End.”

Silence.

Nothing happened—for a single second.

And then, everything happened at once.

The Colosseum was engulfed in a blue and black flash.

Spatial rifts opened throughout the arena, cutting not the ground, but the very fabric of dimension. Lines of energy formed geometric patterns around Ryōmen—hundreds, then thousands of invisible cuts crisscrossing in every possible direction.

Each line was a sentence.

Each cut, an execution.

Ryōmen’s body froze, his four eyes wide. “What… what is th—”

The sound interrupted him.

A tear. And then another. And another.

His body began to be cut before he could even react. Arms, shoulders, torsos—sliced ​​with absurd precision, suspended for an instant in the air, while lines of pure blue light pierced him as if time itself had decided to punish him.

Gods, beasts, and kings fell silent.

The blow didn’t explode.

It collapsed.

The entire arena folded over the point where Vergil stood. Space seemed to swallow itself, and the light was sucked into a single fragment—a miniaturized black hole, created by the dimensional friction of the blow.

When everything ceased, Vergil was standing, Yamato already sheathed.

Behind him, Ryōmen was on her knees.

Her eyes were extinguished.

Her body was still trying to understand itself.

And then… he disintegrated.

Not in blood. Not in pieces.

But in fragments of energy—like glass being pulverized in the wind.

Vergil slowly exhaled.

The black dust fell like inverted rain.

“Oh, he didn’t escape,” Vergil said smiling and turned his gaze to Wukong, “The debt is paid,” then…

He looked at Yama, and with a half-smile, said: “Returned.”