My Wives are Beautiful Demons-Chapter 320: Looking for a Solution

A few weeks after his power surge, Sepphirothy managed to suppress 25% of Vergil's energy, creating a temporary valve to contain his uncontrolled growth. However, it was a fragile solution. Every day that Vergil spent without seeing her at night, his energy would completely restore itself. Or worse: it would exceed 115%, even with simple rest. ~His body, instead of stabilizing, returned to absolute pressure. An endless cycle, where resting was the same as overloading himself.

Worried, Sepphirothy suggested that he use the Blood Manipulation inherited from the Baal Clan to constantly increase his circulation during the time he was awake. The idea was simple: keep the energy flow active and, thus, better distribute the internal load. But the theory failed. Miserably.

He discovered that by forcing the blood circulation, he not only optimized the system, he multiplied it. The blood in motion stimulated the heart, which in turn produced more energy, creating a cascade effect that involuntarily transformed him into a living power plant. The Baal Clan gift was no longer a simple technique but a true generator of raw power, accelerating the ascension of his body and soul.

When he told Raphaeline about the phenomenon, she decided to test it. And even though she didn't achieve the same results — perhaps due to the difference in lineage or level of body-soul fusion — she also felt something change.

Her blood accelerated the production of energy, as if it were feeding an internal furnace. This small insight led her to stop all her activities and isolate herself in deep training, reevaluating each of her techniques from the beginning. Ada, observing everything, followed in her mother's footsteps and immediately sealed herself off to learn a new skill.

Vergil, on the other hand, found himself faced with an even more complex doubt.

If Blood Manipulation was overwhelming him, perhaps it was time to look to another ancient gift: the Burning Flame of the Agares Clan.

Unlike the legendary Flame of the Phenex Clan, which healed and regenerated, the Flame of Agares was a destructive and voracious power. It did not restore—it consumed. Anything touched by its flame was deprived of mana, drained until it was completely dry. And yet, it did not harm the user or those who shared the blood of the clan.

For this reason, Vergil had always avoided using it in combat. It was volatile, unpredictable, and difficult to control. But now, faced with the chaos that was his own body, he began to wonder: was this, in fact, his greatest asset?

The answer perhaps lay in the simplest question of all: What if, instead of attacking others… I directed it against myself?

The result?

Absolutely nothing.

No pain. No resistance. No reaction.

The Burning Flame enveloped him... and simply extinguished. As if, before him, even the mana-devouring power had bowed.

Frustrated by the Burning Flame's utter failure, Vergil took a deep breath. He knew he was running out of options. It was like trying to put out a fire with smoke.

But giving up was not an option.

This time, he focused on another legacy that ran in his blood: the Sitri Clan—masters of the wind, of atmospheric manipulation, and of air as an element and weapon. If blood made him generate power and the flames could not consume it, perhaps the lightness of the wind could dissipate it.

He focused his energy and released an invisible wave around him. The air responded immediately. It swirled lightly around his body, forming a kind of dome in a continuous spiral. It was an ancient technique, used to create dampening fields or to alter atmospheric pressure in high-speed combat.

But Vergil soon realized the problem.

Nothing in him changed.

The Sitri Clan's technique was precise. Beautiful, even. The current of air was like a veil around him. And yet, as he studied it closely, he understood why it was ineffective: he wasn't creating wind. He was manipulating what already existed. This meant that the energy expenditure was minimal. Practically zero.

There was no effort, no consumption. Therefore, there was no relief.

He looked at his palms, then at the space that curved around him under his will. The air moved. The power obeyed. And yet, inside him, the pressure only continued. Like a kettle sealed over an eternal fire. Always on the verge of exploding.

He didn't use his energy; he just ordered it…

It was like giving commands to an invisible legion that was already there, waiting for orders. He didn't need to spend mana to move the wind—he just told it what to do. This explained why, even in intense fights, he rarely felt drained when using Sitri's powers. Nature did the work. He just tuned the instrument.

Stella had explained this later: the Sitri Clan will always be strong because it will never need raw energy, but absolute control. This also explained why Roxanne could withstand his Murderous Aura, unlike Katharina and Ada, who managed to faint almost instantly.

It turned out that her mental strength is two to three times greater than that of the others due to her tireless training in control. That was why she was able to withstand all that demonic discharge of murderous pressure.

What was left for Vergil?

Nothing.

Sapphire had left with Aphrodite for the human world—an emergency measure. The Goddess of Love, despite her immortality, was on the verge of an existential collapse in the Underworld. The place simply did not recognize her as part of its nature. With every second she spent there, Aphrodite's divine essence was being eroded by the abyssal density of the underworld. Staying any longer would be slow suicide. Sapphire, as irritated as she was by the whole situation, took it upon herself to get her out of there.

And with that, Vergil lost his main magical advisor.

Sapphire was the most rational of them all when it came to the Force. Even with her explosive temper and tendency toward acidic sarcasm, she always knew where to look for knowledge, how to find solutions, and, most importantly, when to remain silent and simply observe and seek a solution. If anyone could study his problem with a cool and precise manner, it was her.

But now, she was out of reach.

And the worst part?

Even if she had been present… Vergil doubted she would have known what to do.

Sepphirothy, his own mother, one of the primordial entities of the Underworld, could not comprehend the nature of what was happening to him. And if even she, who had helped shape the foundations of this world and had witnessed countless eons, could not offer an answer…

Sapphire, for all her genius, probably could not either.

The truth was uncomfortable, almost cruel.

Vergil was not facing a mutation. Not a curse. Not even an inheritance too powerful.

He was facing himself.

His body was the weapon. His blood, the engine. His soul, the battlefield.

However...

"Hmm… I'm sorry." Paimon's soft voice echoed with an unusual tone of embarrassment. The

sensuous-looking woman, normally so haughty and confident, bowed before Vergil with a slight blush on her face—a rare, almost disconcerting expression for someone like her.

Vergil raised an eyebrow. "Nothing?" Her voice was dry and firm but not angry. Just exhausted.

Paimon forced a crooked, almost childish smile in her attempt to hide her frustration and held something out in front of her with both hands: a Blue Orb, faintly pulsing, as if breathing a dormant light.

"Our best experts have worked tirelessly to try to remove the Celestial Seal that imprisons the Platinum Dragon Empress…" She hesitated. "But unfortunately, there's not much we can do when she's blocking everything from within."

Vergil took the orb carefully, as if holding a rare and temperamental piece. His eyes narrowed. "Is she… resisting scrutiny?"

Paimon nodded, more confident now, but her gaze still lowered.

"Let's just say the seal itself is already quite weak—it must be over a thousand years old, after all. But the blockhead inside is using her own mana to repel any attempts at outside interference. It's as if she's refusing any contact, even if we can help her."

Vergil stared at the orb with hard eyes, the blue glow reflecting in his irises, projecting a silent ocean of disappointment.

Ever since Azazel had given him that artifact, all he had received in return… was silence.

No vision. No response. No whisper.

The mission to exterminate the fallen angels had been accomplished with cruel perfection. He had hunted them down, destroyed them, and eliminated them to the last. His reward was this orb…

Vergil's hope was clear: that the legendary draconic entity imprisoned there could give him answers. A creature so ancient, so powerful, perhaps knew what no one else did — how to contain, or perhaps transcend, the very body that was about to destroy him due to its excess of power.

But now… even that seemed out of reach.

With a long sigh, he raised the orb to his eyes and stared at it in silence, as if trying, by force of will, to pierce the layer of refusal.

"Talk to me, you fucking bitch." He cursed the orb before it glowed. "That's it, you unloved whore, come out now and let's talk. I'll take you out of there and release you into the world to cause chaos. Fuck everything, I just want to make sure I'm alive, fuck everyone else." Vergil spoke with a demonic look.