My Wives are Beautiful Demons - Chapter 646

Chapter 646: You just did it on the first try.
The silence that followed was different.

Not heavy, nor tense—just laden with expectation.

Sapphire took a few steps forward, positioning herself between Vergil and Wukong, her gaze steady, too aware for someone who was merely “talking.” The wind at the top of Mount Hua gently ruffled her hair, and the clouds below continued to move, indifferent to the weight of the approaching decision.

“Wukong,” she said bluntly. “I need you to help Vergil.”

The reaction was immediate.

Wukong blinked.

Once.

Then again.

“…Help how?” he asked, pointing his thumb at his own chest. “Because if it’s about breaking mountains, fighting gods, or stealing immortal peaches, I can fit that into the schedule.”

Vergil glanced quickly at Sapphire, clearly surprised, but remained silent.

Sapphire didn’t smile.

“That’s not it,” she replied. “I have a terrible feeling about this tournament.”

Wukong’s smile faded.

Not completely—but the playful glint in his eyes diminished.

“You always have terrible premonitions,” she commented. “Half the time the world almost ends.”

“And the other half it almost ends because nobody listened to me,” she retorted.

She took a deep breath.

“I’m doing everything I can to make Vergil stronger before it’s too late.”

Wukong watched Vergil more closely now. The way he held Níðhögg, his controlled presence, the deliberate restraint of someone who knew exactly what he carried. Something in the depths of his eyes betrayed experience… and something more.

Silent ambition.

“You know who I am,” Wukong said slowly. “You know what I carry.”

Sapphire nodded.

“The Sage Equal to the Heavens,” she said. “One of the most powerful gods that exist.”

Wukong inclined his head slightly, an almost respectful gesture.

“And he also knows,” she continued, “that the Jade Emperor is watching everything you do. Every technique passed on, every teaching shared… anything like that sets off alarm bells.”

Wukong sighed, shifting his staff from one shoulder to the other.

“Not just the Emperor,” he added. “If I teach my techniques directly, all the Buddhas will feel it. All of them.” His eyes narrowed. “And I have no desire whatsoever to explain anything to any of them.”

Vergil finally spoke.

“Then that’s not possible.”

Wukong shrugged.

“Not in the traditional way.”

Sapphire shook her head slowly.

“I know.”

The two stared at each other for a moment—an ancient understanding silently passing between them.

“I don’t want everything,” Sapphire continued. “I don’t want your deepest secrets. Nor your sky-shaking tricks.”

Wukong raised an eyebrow.

“Then what do you want?”

Sapphire turned to Vergil for a brief moment, assessing him, as if calculating unseen consequences.

Then she looked back at Wukong.

“Teach me one thing,” she said.

The wind blew stronger.

Wukong narrowed his eyes.

“…One thing?”

Sapphire nodded.

“The clone technique.”

The summit of Mount Hua fell into absolute silence.

Even the wind seemed to hesitate.

Wukong didn’t laugh.

He didn’t joke.

He didn’t provoke.

His gaze became serious in a rare, ancient way—the gaze of someone who understood exactly the weight of that request.

“…You know what you’re asking for,” he said softly.

“I know,” Safira replied without hesitation. “And I know what that can cause.”

Vergil felt Níðhögg vibrate slightly—not with a desire for combat, but with recognition.

Wukong exhaled slowly.

“The clone technique isn’t just multiplication,” he said. “It’s identity. Will. Ego divided without losing itself.” His golden eyes turned to Vergil. “Many have gone mad trying to copy it.”

Safira didn’t look away.

“Vergil won’t go mad.”

Wukong studied his face for long seconds.

Then, finally, a slow smile appeared on his lips.

“…Interesting.”

He twirled the staff once and placed it on the ground.

“Alright,” he said. “I can’t teach it.”

Safira closed her eyes for a moment.

“But,” Wukong continued, raising a finger, “I can show you.”

Sapphire’s smile returned—small, but relieved.

Vergil felt, deep in his chest, that this moment marked the beginning of something much bigger than just another technique.

It was the start of a calculated risk.

And the sky above seemed too attentive to be a coincidence.

Wukong took a few steps forward, moving away from the edge of the cliff. The cloud beneath his feet slowly dissipated, as if it had understood that, for now, it wouldn’t be necessary. The Ruyi Jingu Bang remained resting on his shoulder, silent—attentive.

“Pay attention, Vergil,” she said, in a different tone than usual. There was no joking around. “I’m not going to explain this twice.”

Vergil adjusted his posture immediately. Níðhögg was carefully placed on the ground beside him. The scythe vibrated one last time before falling completely silent, as if it too were… observing.

Sapphire took a few steps back, keeping her distance. Her eyes never left Wukong.

“The most common mistake,” Wukong began, walking slowly in a circle, “is thinking my clones are illusions, projections, or tricks of light.” She stopped. “They are not.”

She raised her right hand.

“They are me.”

The air around her shifted.

There was no explosion of energy, no blinding light. It was something more subtle—an almost imperceptible distortion, as if reality had flickered for an instant.

Then—

One Wukong became two.

The second appeared beside the first, perfectly identical. Same posture. Same expression. Same overwhelming presence.

Vergil felt a shiver run down his spine. Both Wukongs looked at him at the same time.

“There is no hierarchy,” they said in unison. “None is a copy. None is the original.”

A third appeared.

Then a fourth.

Five.

Ten.

The Wukongs spread across the top of Mount Hua, some sitting nonchalantly on rocks, others with their arms crossed, others floating in the air. All emanated exactly the same divine pressure.

Vergil clenched his teeth.

He could feel… all of them.

“Each clone carries my complete will,” one explained, while another twirled her staff distractedly. “My strength, my technique, my consciousness.”

One Wukong approached him.

Too close.

“And that’s where the danger lies,” she said, staring him in the eyes. “If your mind isn’t absolute, you’re lost.”

The others disappeared all at once.

Without a sound. No trace.

Only one Wukong remained again.

She snapped her fingers.

“The trick isn’t multiplying the body,” she continued. “It’s dividing the ego without fragmenting the identity.”

Vergil breathed deeply now. Not from exhaustion—from focus.

“How?” he asked.

Wukong smiled.

“You don’t create clones of yourself,” she said. “You accept that you are already multiple.”

She approached him and lightly touched Vergil’s chest, two fingers pressing precisely over the center.

“You have the warrior. The strategist. The survivor. The assassin. The man who loves. The man who hates.” She withdrew her hand. “They are all you.”

Sapphire watched in absolute silence.

“My technique merely… gives form to that,” Wukong concluded.

She took a step back and opened her arms.

“Now watch again.”

The world shattered.

Not visually—conceptually.

Vergil felt as if his own perception had been stretched. Wukong split again, but now something was different. Each clone carried a distinct nuance. One smiled maliciously. Another maintained a cold expression. Another observed in absolute silence.

Even so—

They were all Wukong.

“They don’t fight each other,” said one of them. “They don’t compete. They don’t disagree.”

“They cooperate,” added another.

“Because they all want exactly the same thing.”

The clones advanced.

Not against Vergil—around him.

They moved in perfect synchronicity, executing sequences of invisible blows, combat stances, impossible displacements. The air cut, bent, vibrated with each movement.

Vergil felt his body react on its own.

Memorizing.

Analyzing.

Adapting.

Níðhögg vibrated beside her, excited, as if she wanted to participate in that forbidden learning.

Then, suddenly—

All the clones dissolved into golden smoke.

Wukong was alone again.

She looked at Vergil, now serious.

“I can’t teach you this step by step,” she said. “But your body saw. Your mind felt.”

She tilted her head.

“If you are capable… the technique will be born on its own.”

Sapphire finally spoke. “And the price?”

Wukong smiled, but there was something sharp there.

“If he makes a mistake,” she said, “they won’t be clones.”

Vergil looked up.

“…What will they be, then?”

Wukong answered without hesitation: “Fragments.”

The silence that followed the word “fragments” was absolute.

Vergil didn’t look away.

He didn’t back down.

He showed no hesitation.

He simply took a deep breath.

Once.

Then again.

Sapphire noticed the change first. It wasn’t an explosion of power, nor a sudden increase in aura—it was something more dangerous. Vergil’s presence became dense, as if something within him had aligned with surgical precision.

He closed his eyes.

Níðhögg vibrated.

Not in anxiety.

In expectation.

Vergil didn’t raise his hand. He didn’t make seals. He didn’t utter ancient words. He simply… accepted.

The world responded.

The air around him rippled, exactly as it had happened with Wukong—the same subtle, almost imperceptible distortion, as if reality had blinked.

Then—

Vergil opened his eyes.

And there were two.

Wukong blinked.

Once.

Then again.

“…Hm?”

The second Vergil appeared beside the first, perfectly aligned. Same posture. Same cold expression. Same sharp presence that made the air seem sharper around them.

No instability.

No flaw.

Níðhögg reacted immediately—the scythe vibrated and, for an instant, doubled the vibration, as if recognizing both.

Wukong took a step forward without realizing it.

“Wait.”

A third Vergil appeared.

Then a fourth.

Four identical figures, arranged in silence, all looking in the same direction. No hostility between them. No confusion. No loss of focus.

Sapphire felt her stomach clench.

They weren’t copying each other.

They were distributing themselves.

The Vergils moved.

Not in chaos—in harmony.

One took a step forward. Another shrugged slightly. A third surveyed the surroundings. The fourth kept his eyes closed, as if listening to something beyond the physical world.

Wukong felt it.

He truly felt it.

Each of them had a complete ego.

None was shallow. None was incomplete. None was unstable.

“…This isn’t possible,” she murmured.

Vergil—the original, if there still was one—spoke:

“You said I was already multiple.”

The clones nodded.

The air vibrated.

Sapphire slowly brought her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide.

Wukong, for the first time since the world had learned to fear her, was speechless.

Literally.

His jaw dropped.

The Ruyi Jingu Bang vibrated nervously, as if sensing that something had just crossed a line that shouldn’t be crossed so easily.

“…You—” Wukong began, but no words came out.

Vergil’s clones dissolved smoothly, returning to a single body like smoke being pulled into an invisible vortex.

Vergil remained standing.

Intact.

Whole.

No pain. No mental cracks. No fragmentation.

He looked at his own hands, as if merely confirming something he already knew.

Wukong closed her mouth slowly.

Then she laughed.

But it wasn’t an ordinary laugh.

It was short. Incredulous. Almost… nervous.

“…It took me ages to do this without losing pieces of myself,” she said, running a hand through her golden hair. “And you just did it on the first try.”

She stared at Vergil, now with something new in her gaze. Respect.

And a clear trace of concern.

Sapphire released the breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding.

“So…,” she murmured. “My feeling got worse.”

Wukong didn’t take his eyes off Vergil.

“…Mine too,” he replied.