My Wives are Beautiful Demons-Chapter 323: I will become a god

"I wonder how I ended up here," muttered Vergil, his voice hoarse, almost without strength, as he felt the weight of the chains digging into every fiber of his body. They were no ordinary metal... they roared like living beasts, made of liquid shadow, sliding and squeezing with sadistic pleasure around his muscles, bones and soul.

He opened his eyes slowly.

There was no physical pain - not yet - but a feeling of ancestral heaviness suffocated him. His eyes, now adapted to the surreal dimness, revealed a sky tinged with blood red, as if the firmament itself had been wounded. And below him... flowers.

Thousands, millions of red spider lilies.

The dream field that always appeared to him in his most confusing and disturbing dreams - and which he had visited once, when he fell into Viviane's well, still in his transition to the devil.

But now... it wasn't a dream.

"You took too long to wake up... slave." The voice came from all sides at once - low, hissing, almost gentle, like a snake whispering in the ear of a man on the brink of sanity. Vergil felt the chains tighten in response to the voice's provocation, creaking as if they were laughing at him.

It didn't take him long to understand.

"You cursed me, didn't you?" he said, anger brimming in his tone, even though his posture was bent, slumped, like that of a wounded animal. "You planned this from the start, from our first meeting..."

The silence that followed brought no peace... only a creeping chill, as if the whole world was holding its breath.

Then he appeared.

With soft steps and hands folded behind his back, a man appeared in front of Vergil. His Chinese kimono fluttered slightly in the unreal wind of that ethereal plane. No bones showing. No skull.

This time, he had a face.

And the face was human. Too human.

Pale skin, fine features, eyes so dark they looked like holes in reality. There was no smile. No arrogance. Just a look - ancient, unfathomable, merciless.

He turned to face Vergil with a calm that sounded like an insult.

"Hm. A bit late to notice, don't you think?" he said, his voice now with shape and weight. "But I suppose this slowness is inherited from your... gentle side."

Vergil stared at him through the sweaty strands of hair and the blood dripping from his forehead. For the first time, he saw the Spectre for real.

"You've got a lot of guts," Vergil growled through clenched teeth, his whole body tensing in futile resistance against the chains that now seemed part of his very flesh, embedded in his mind like black roots. His voice was deep, almost guttural, brimming with hatred and frustration.

But the bonds didn't give way. On the contrary... they tightened, as if feeding off his anger.

"Courage?" the Spectre repeated with an almost amused tone. "Courage is relative, especially when you're in my position."

He stopped in front of Vergil again, looking down at him, eyes twinkling with a sadistic, almost studious glint. The air around him seemed to weigh it down, to curve the space. There was no heat, no cold - just that pre-storm silence, where reality itself held its breath.

"But I must admit..." he continued, with a slight raise of his eyebrow. "I really thought it would be impossible to curse you. You've survived two death curses, fragmented your soul, risen from the ashes more than once. A... fascinating case."

Vergil didn't answer. His gaze was murderous, but impotent.

"Fortunately, you let your guard down." The Spectre smiled - not a human smile, but a stretch of the lips that conveyed pure predatory delight.

"When that subordinate of yours swallowed the Pope's body, I thought that was the end of the plan. I needed a receptacle with sacred energy... and he destroyed it." He gave a brief, theatrical sigh, like someone regretting spilled wine. "But then, during our fight, I realized something. Your sword."

He tilted his head like someone appreciating a misunderstood work of art.

"Yamato, isn't it? Made from your soul. And then it all made sense."

He began to walk in circles around Vergil, like a wolf around a wounded deer.

"At the time I almost snatched Viviane from the hands of the living, I didn't think much about you. Just an annoying distraction. But when I investigated further... I realized that your blade had absorbed part of me - every time you killed one of my clones."

Vergil tried to deny it, but the words echoed like truths too deep to ignore.

"My curse was a silent parasite. Every blow you struck at me was a bite of it into your soul. One fragment after another."

He stopped again, this time behind Vergil, bending close to his ear like an executioner muttering the sentence.

"You cursed yourself... with every victory."

A brutal silence fell over the field of spider lilies, as if even the bloody flowers were afraid to breathe.

Vergil shuddered. Not from pain. But from the truth.

"And best of all..." whispered Spectro, with almost sensual delight, "you didn't even think you could be cursed. Because, deep down, you thought you were invincible."

The Spectre remained silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the black chains that pinned Vergil to the floor of crimson flowers. Then his voice slid out like soft poison:

"Do you remember when I spoke of the Pope's body?" He took a step forward, and the sound of his sandals on the earth seemed to echo for miles. "It wasn't just the body. It was the divine energy it carried. A perfect catalyst to complete my ritual."

Vergil gritted his teeth, sweat dripping down his forehead. He was beginning to understand where this was going - and he hated every second of it.

"But, of course..." the Spectre continued, as if telling a story to a child "Your pet idiot swallowed the corpse. That plan died there. Or so I thought."

He crouched down in front of Vergil, eyes locked on his like icy blades.

"It was when I fought you... that I realized." He pointed with a slight movement of his chin. "Your sword. Yamato. She didn't just cut through space, or soul. She... sang."

Vergil didn't understand immediately. Then the Spectre smiled crookedly.

"That timbre... that vibration. It wasn't demonic. It was sacred."

Vergil's eyes widened. A shiver ran down his spine.

"And then I understood." His voice became an almost reverent whisper. "Your soul, Vergil. As much as you've thrown yourself into the darkness... it's not entirely demonic. It's a fusion. There's something in you. Something above."

He stood up slowly, spreading his arms as if invoking the bloody heavens.

"You're the perfect paradox. A demon with divine remnants. And worse... a soul that still shines under the layer of corruption." He laughed. "You're everything I needed. A more powerful vessel than the Pope could ever be."

The chains around Vergil vibrated, as if they were alive. He felt something burning inside him. It wasn't anger. It was... shame. Disgust. Fear. fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm

"I didn't need a corpse. I needed a vessel capable of containing both extremes: light and darkness. A being who could open the last veil between the planes and allow me to cross over... like a god."

The Spectre turned and began to walk away, looking up at the sky.

"And ironically, it was you who offered it to me. With your blind trust. With your thirst for blood. With your arrogance."

He turned at last, his eyes burning like black holes.

"You created me, Vergil. And now, I will be reborn... inside you." He said waving that item Vergil had heard about, the Behelith. "I'm going to become a god thanks to you."

...

The ground shook with a violence not seen since the days of the First Fall.

Paimon staggered over to one of the emergency levers as the monitors in the control room began to explode in sparks and smoke. Lines of code faded to red, and alarms blared on all frequencies.

"This is no ordinary rupture... the containment core... has been destroyed!" she shouted, her eyes wide at the final reading: "ENERGY LEVEL UNKNOWN. COMPARISON: NONE."

And then the light came.

It wasn't an explosion, it wasn't magic - it was pure, raw, absurd golden light. It burst from Vergil's cell like a star rising in the heart of the Underworld. A sacred, dense, violent... and beautiful flash.

The floor shattered. The ceiling of the prison began to disintegrate into glittering particles. The runes, seals, chains and barriers - all the layers that held it together - shattered like glass in the face of thunder.

Sepphirothy and Sapphire stared at the light, motionless. Not out of respect... but out of fear.

An ancient fear, rooted not in the body, but in the soul.

"He's... waking up." murmured Sepphirothy, her voice wavering for a second. Even she, who had faced countless horrors, had never felt anything like this.

Sapphire clenched her fist tightly. Her throat went dry. The heat of the golden light burned like divine judgment.

"I don't want to do this," she said. The voice sounded small. Fragile.

"Neither do I." Sepphirothy replied, looking away. "But if he's lost control... we're not facing Vergil. We're facing something that shouldn't exist."

They stared at each other. Warrior and mother. General and queen. Two ancient entities hesitating for the first time.

"Let's immobilize him. At least try." Sepphirothy said regretfully.

"And if we fail?" asked Sapphire, already pulling out her black spear of restraint.

"Then... we'll have no choice..." Sepphirothy replied. "I won't let anyone use My Son's body."