My Wives are Beautiful Demons-Chapter 310: Next Objective

"So..." Vergil said, crossing his legs calmly as he leaned back in the leather chair. His gaze was fixed on the screens in front of him - a mesmerizing jumble of map images, lines of code and traces with various points of interest. "I have a few questions."

"Of course, my sweet, delicious love," Paimon replied before she had even finished sighing, resting her head gently on his chest as she hugged him from the side. Her voice was pure honey, and her shapely body molded to his as if it were made for it.

She blushed slightly as she realized that Vergil wasn't pushing her away. There was no tension. No flinching. He just... accepted.

That, for her, was more powerful than any magic.

Since the day in the forest - when she hugged him from behind and he didn't resist - something had changed. She no longer needed to provoke to be noticed. She was there. Present. And he let her.

"What do you want to know?" she whispered, her eyes flickering between ruby and sapphire, a mixture typical of her infernal lineage, but which always shone brighter around him.

Vergil ran his fingertips over one of the screens. The images changed. A golden fragment appeared in 3D, spinning slowly, bathed in energy data.

"What did you find out about the Ex-calibur Fragment?" he asked in a calm, almost casual tone. But behind the question lay an ocean of contained curiosity.

She gave a little smile, her lips brushing lightly against the fabric of his shirt.

"Ah... that." She snapped her fingers, and a small rune floated to the surface of the table. "Well, you must want to know about the divine aspect he received, right? When I visited Viviane to ask her about it, she said it was just Light magic, so something turned it into Divine. And well, we came to the conclusion that it was the Dragon's Blood that Arthur Pendragon killed."

"Kilgharrah," Vergil murmured thoughtfully, "the dragon that King Arthur killed..."

Paimon nodded. "We're scanning Wales for traces of Camelot, but... finding a dragon is a hundred times worse than finding a God." Paimon muttered a little annoyed.

Vergil tilted his head slightly, his eyes still fixed on the projection of the fragment. "If Kilgharrah's blood was the catalyst for the sword's transformation, then it's not just divine... it's hybrid. A mystical artifact with a draconic heart."

"Exactly," Paimon replied, now more animated, standing up a little to lean on the edge of the holographic table. "The energy emanating from the fragment isn't just celestial. It pulses. As if it were... breathing. And guess what? That's not common in any traditional magical artifact. Only in things that have been created with living essence."

Vergil rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So technically it wasn't destroyed. It was dismantled with a sacrifice... like a pact."

Paimon gave a broad smile, the kind of smile that mixed pride and danger. "You're getting the hang of it. Yes, we believe that the fragments were separated because they couldn't withstand the force of the pact that was made."

He shifted his gaze to the corner of the screen where a red warning was flashing - some point of unstable energy had been detected on the outskirts of Bardsey Island, an ancient place, forgotten by almost everyone... except the beings who don't forget.

"That could be a fragment," he commented.

"Or a trap, especially since Spectre knows about the fact that Dragon's Blood was used," Paimon retorted, snuggling back into him as if they were talking about the weather. "But it's a good place to start."

"True..." He murmured, as he felt her return to his side and snuggle in.

Paimon settled down on the sofa next to him, resting his head in the curve between Vergil's shoulder and neck. For a few seconds, he remained silent, just listening to his heartbeat, as if searching for rhythm in the words he was about to say. Then, without lifting her face, she murmured softly:

"Vergil... what if I gave you a less suicidal alternative to invading an island that could clearly be a trap?"

He arched an eyebrow, still staring at the dice, but already aware that anything said with that subtle tone coming from her had the potential to be absurdly brilliant... or absurdly dangerous.

"I'm listening," he said, calmly.

She lifted her face, her eyes sparkling with that glint between mischief and wisdom. "What if... you knew a goddess?"

Vergil blinked. The silence that followed almost made it seem as if time had frozen in the room. He slowly turned his face towards her. "What's it like?"

Paimon smiled with gusto, and this time it was the kind of smile that made the gates of hell creak with envy.

"A goddess. Literal. Holy, eternal, wonderful and extremely sarcastic." She moved away just enough to cross one leg over the other, her hands in her lap. "Persephone. Queen of the Underworld. Wife of the most scowling god in history."

It took Vergil a few seconds to digest that. "Persephone...? Why would she help?"

"Because," Paimon said, leaning forward like someone telling a dirty secret, "if King Arthur used Kilgharrah's blood to seal a pact, that pact involved an exchange of living essence. Someone had to die. And if Arthur is the missing link... perhaps his soul is down there. Wandering. Or trapped in some eternal judgment."

She paused dramatically. "And who do you know who can give you a free pass to the underworld?"

Vergil took a deep breath. "Do you really want to introduce me to Persephone?"

"Introduce you? Of course not, I won't let her touch what's going to be mine," she corrected, raising a finger as if to lecture. "Let's use our statuses to get an audience with her."

"I don't think someone who calls herself the Queen of the Underworld is just going to accept something like that from demons like us." Vergil said.

Paimon raised his shoulders with a mischievous grin. "Yeah, well... nobody's perfect. But I know someone who can get it for us without too much effort. Of course... you'll have to use your natural charm." She winked mischievously, her lips curving in pure amusement.

Vergil sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples with his fingertips as if he knew exactly where this was going. "Don't tell me you're the one I'm thinking of..."

She smiled wider, clearly amused by his subtle discomfort. "Oh, that's right, I said something when you asked me to track down Specter, didn't I?" She snapped her fingers as if she'd only just remembered. "Yes, my dear, the very one. Aphrodite." freewēbnoveℓ.com

Vergil arched an eyebrow, almost in disbelief.

"If there's anyone in the Greek pantheon with enough connections and a sweet enough tongue to curry favor even with the underworld... it's her." Paimon leaned her chin on her hands, thoughtful. "Although all the Greek gods hated each other with gusto, Aphrodite was always... shall we say, persuasive. Especially with Persephone."

"Do you want me to go to the Goddess of Sex and politely ask her to take me to the Queen of the Dead?"

"No, I want you to win her over a bit in the process," she replied with almost offensive naturalness. "At least enough for her to want to help you. And trust me... Aphrodite loves tragic heroes with beautiful eyes and cursed pasts."

Vergil closed his eyes for a moment. "Wonderful... I'm going to flirt with a goddess just to interrogate a dead king. That doesn't sound insane at all."

Paimon approached and placed a light kiss on his cheek. "Ah, my love... welcome to mythology. It's only Tuesday here."

Paimon moved slightly away from Vergil's lap, her hair flowing over her shoulders as she stretched to the edge of the table. She pulled out a sheet of neon yellow pouchite and with a snap of her fingers, conjured up an ordinary black office pen.

"She still lives in Paris," Paimon muttered as he scribbled down the address fluidly. "Of course, not in some penthouse, but in a building in Montmartre that nobody can find on Google Maps. There's a fake flower shop in front. The name is Jardin de la Nuit. It looks like a boutique, but no one has ever seen it sell a flower."

Vergil watched the proceedings like someone watching a disaster about to happen.

Paimon finished writing and held out the paper to him like someone handing over the key to a cursed safe. "Here. Just knock, go in, and... try not to look like a divine stalker. If she asks who sent you, just say it was me. She'll understand."

Vergil took the paper, read it once and then looked at Paimon again, suspicious. "You're sending me to meet the goddess of love, the secret florist of Paris, in the middle of a mission about sacred fragments and the souls of dead kings..."

Paimon smiled, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in the palm of his hand. "Yes. And with luck, she'll kiss you before she helps you. Or after. Or in the breaks."

Paimon raised an eyebrow with the kind of expression that said "ah, of course she will" even without uttering a word. She approached slowly, her heels sounding soft against the floor as the mischievous smile widened on her face.

"Married, hmm?" she repeated in a voice as sweet as liquor, stopping right in front of him. "And yet you let me hold you... you let me touch you... and now you're going to Aphrodite with my name on the tip of your tongue." She tilted her head to the side, as if analyzing an intriguing painting. "You really are full of contradictions, my love."

Vergil snorted, turning his face away as if about to cut off the conversation. "I'm not going to have a relationship with a woman who's had more men than she's changed," he repeated.

Paimon laughed, without the slightest shame, and took a step closer to him. "That's a good one. But you know what's funnier?" she said almost in a whisper, her lips dangerously close to his. "You care. If you didn't care, you wouldn't have said anything."

Before he could reply, she pulled him by the collar of his shirt and kissed him. It was quick, bold, and full of that fire that only beings from Hell know how to dose with precision. A shiver ran down Vergil's spine, but he remained still - not responding, but also... not refusing.

When Paimon pulled away, she discreetly licked her lower lip and smiled with that teasing glint in her eyes.

"Hmm... married and lets me kiss you," she murmured in a voice as soft as bottled temptation. "How ironic."