My Wives are Beautiful Demons-Chapter 324: Nephilim? HAHAHA!

Before either of them could take the first step, time... stopped.

Not literally... the air still vibrated, the dust still fell, the golden glow still pulsed like a second sun inside the prison, but for Sepphirothy and Sapphire, the world seemed to suspend its own logic. A new presence dominated the space. Overwhelming. Impossible to ignore.

Something had crossed the light.

And then, between the two, it appeared.

Without sound. Without warning.

Vergil.

Or... that which used his body as a throne.

The chains had already disappeared. His skin radiated golden and divine fragments, as if it were being forged with each second. His hair floated slightly, taken by silver reflections. His eyes? They were no longer the eyes of the man they both knew—they were globes of absolute white, crossed by golden slits that danced like living runes.

There was no demonic aura. Nor sacred. It was a mixture of both. Like looking into the abyss and feeling... like the abyss was looking back.

"How funny," he said, looking directly at Sepphirothy. His voice was double... low and high at the same time, a disconcerting harmony of divine power and ancient perversion. "You were planning to create a Nephilim, you damned bitches, HAHAHA."

He moved his arm.

A crack. A golden explosion of pure spiritual force.

They both acted at the same time.

Sapphire was faster... She spun, summoning a spear in a circular motion, summoning a translucent wall of fire, ancient runes running across the surface. The blow collided with the shield and tore it like paper, but it diverted the focus of the energy. The impact tore off chunks of the wall, cracked the ceiling, and opened a crater where the floor had been.

Sepphirothy flew behind Vergil and struck him with a side kick enhanced by overwhelming demonic energy. The impact exploded in white light.

Vergil—or whatever it was—was thrown several feet, but he spun in the air with the grace of a god and landed on his feet, sliding across the remains of the destroyed ground. A golden trail marked his path.

"I will strike." Wasting no time, Sapphire advanced with surgical precision. Her spear spun like a shooting star, piercing the space around it with each strike. She was one of the most lethal warriors in the Underworld—and even she... was hesitant.

Vergil stopped the spear with two fingers.

Two.

The sacred metal shuddered, letting out a screech. Sapphire's eyes widened in surprise.

He pushed her away with a flick of his wrist, as if brushing away dust.

But before she could fall, Sepphirothy was already there, moving as fast as lightning, summoning a set of demonic energy swords that swirled around her. One after another, the blades flew toward her possessed son... each one had enough demonic energy to cover a continent.

Vergil raised his hand.

And the swords... stopped in midair.

Not by restraint magic. But by sheer will.

As if the space between him and the projectiles was... his.

"Sepphirothy..." he said, turning his head slightly. "The First Demon after Lilith. The first after the progenitor. What a joke."

He clenched his fist.

The swords exploded into glowing particles. Sepphirothy's eyes narrowed. Her jaw clenched. It was the first time in centuries that she felt... at a disadvantage.

"He's in symbiosis with the entity." Sapphire murmured, now at her side. "This isn't just possession. It's fusion. Whatever's in there… it's new."

"It doesn't matter what it is," Sepphirothy replied, summoning her combat form. The markings on her body glowed purple and gold. Her black wings spread violently. "He's still my son. And I can still get him out of this if I have to break the universe in the process."

Sapphire spun her spear and stabbed it into the ground.

"Then we go in chains. I'll hold. You strike." Sapphire's voice cut through the sound of the falling rubble like hailstones.

The ground beneath her feet vibrated like the heart of a beast about to awaken.

And then… the world split in two.

In the center of the collapsing cell, surrounded by a circle of golden embers and black ash, Vergil raised his arms, and with that simple gesture, the Underworld fell silent.

Not because of the absence of sound, but because even reality itself seemed to pause as if something immeasurable was about to happen.

His aura exploded upward, tearing the ceiling of the prison into spirals of light and darkness that coiled like mythical serpents, crossing the bloody sky. Each wave of energy that emanated from his body altered the environment around him—the floor melted into obsidian, while pillars of spectral marble sprouted from the walls, as if the plane were being rewritten around him.

Then came the crack. A high, primordial sound, like the clanging of a bell forged by the gods.

From the right side of his body rose a black wing, demonically webbed, covered in incandescent veins—pulsing with the energy of the Death Knight, of Hell, of War. With each beat of the wing, ash fluttered like charred feathers. It was the embodiment of collapse, of burden, of curse.

From the left side, a flash. Skin lit up in lines of living gold. Bone and muscle glowed from within, as if carved in heavenly fire. And then a wing of pure light appeared, made of condensed energy, formed from floating fragments—the shards of Excalibur, glowing with arcane symbols as they reorganized into divine feathers.

A being split between worlds.

It was no longer Vergil.

It was not just the entity.

It was a fusion—a new apocalypse, a broken divinity.

"Come then..." His voice echoed multiple times, as if speaking across all layers of time and reality.

His eyes—one sky-gold, the other black as a total eclipse—burned as they stared at the two warriors.

Vergil did not need to speak. His very presence pressed upon the air like a new gravity, distorting the environment, bending the logic of the forces that held the entire Underworld together.

He raised his sword—Yamato reborn.

It was no longer just the blade of space. It vibrated in two simultaneous tones: an angelic whisper and an abyssal roar, resonating with layers of light and darkness that writhed on its edge.

Reality itself trembled around the blade, as if trying to escape it.

And then it advanced—quick as thought, deadly as prophecy.

Sapphire gritted her teeth and summoned the Star Shield, channeling the light of the Hecate Constellation to block the impending blow. But the instant her feet dug into the ground and she felt the impact coming...

"When were you going to tell me that Vergil was a fucking Nephilim?!" Sapphire screamed, in full panic and fury, her voice booming louder than the thunder of the blade.

The blow was parried—but only halfway. The shield shattered into three luminous fragments, and Sapphire flew ten feet backward, falling to her knees.

"I ask!" Sepphirothy roared, turning to face her companion instead of the enemy. "How did BOTH of us not realize he's turned into a Nephilim?!"

She spun her spear in circles, creating an antimatter field to repel Vergil's next attack—but her eyes weren't on the enemy. They were on her companion. Her ally. His mother.

Vergil attacked again—a sideways slash with absurd speed.

Sepphirothy dodged on pure instinct but barely raised her spear to block; instead, she turned to Sapphire with an expression that was a mix of anger, guilt, and exhaustion.

"You're his mother, damn it!" Sapphire's scream cut deeper than any blade. "You carry the blood of Lucifer and Lilith! How did you not see he was turning into a SHITTY NEPHILIN?!"

Sapphire leapt up with fury and pain in her eyes, her hair floating in ethereal flames.

"You should pay more attention to your son, you bitch!" She advanced on Vergil, not with the intention of attacking, but with the scream caught in her throat.

"What am I going to do, you little slut? You were giving him that ancient pussy a few weeks ago."

She raised her spear and, for the first time, didn't aim at Vergil. She aimed at Sepphirothy.

Vergil paused for a second, almost confused.

"You want to blame me?" Sapphire shouted, her voice shaking with a knot of emotion.

"You raised him! You should know better!"

Sepphirothy narrowed her eyes and then smiled bitterly.

"And not fucking your friend's son should be the least of it too, but here we are."

Sapphire then spat the words. "You're jealous because you weren't the one who had your insides blessed with that guy over there." She pointed at Corrupted Vergil's pants.

At that moment, Vergil moved again. A diagonal slash from top to bottom. They both saw it—and reacted together, almost reflexively, as they had in the past. Their powers merged, repelling the blade millimeters from their faces. But they didn't even look at each other. Now, they were at war. Not with him. With themselves.

The new Vergil spun in the air, hovering briefly, his wings spread in judgment. He didn't attack again.

He watched them.

Not as an enemy.

But as a father who sees his daughters fighting over a cursed legacy.

"You want to stop me…" His voice echoed like a desecrated prayer, velvet and venom mixed in every syllable. "But you're already defeated. You've lost yourselves in your own fear."

They both stared at him… unblinking. Without emotion. Without haste.

"Fear?" The word came out at the same time, like a cynical reflex.

Sapphire arched an eyebrow. "Did he… say fear?" she asked, as if analyzing a bad joke.

Sepphirothy snapped her fingers, twirling her spear as if bored. "Yes. He said, Fear." She smiled slowly, a demonic laugh laced with contempt. "I'm old, not deaf."

Sapphire crossed her arms. "Ah, yes… fear." She savored the word as if it were something foreign in her mouth. "It's been so long I've forgotten what it sounds like…"

Sepphirothy tilted her head, as if listening to something distant. "What is… the definition of fear?"

"Yeah," Sapphire added, her eyes glinting with sarcasm. "I'd like to know too…"

"Are you going, or am I?" Sapphire asked, already preparing her hand to conjure an explosion.

"There's no need to go." Sepphirothy smiled, and then…

The world around them shook.

A demonic aura, thick and sharp like a hot current, fell upon Vergil.

His body shuddered, and in an instant he was thrown to the ground with such force that the ground cracked beneath his knees—a crater formed, as if the weight of judgment itself was being brought down upon him.

"Little maggot," Sapphire murmured, walking slowly toward him, her eyes burning gold. "You're nothing to be afraid of." She crouched down a little, her tone thick with venom and contempt.

"Because, you see… what does a mage think he can do to a warrior's body, other than get beaten to death?"

"Exactly." Sepphirothy appeared behind him, whispering sharply in the corrupted one's ear. "You don't even know how to wield your own body. The only reason we haven't attacked you before is because this is still Vergil's body."

She leaned in slightly, her breath like ancient ice. "Having power… and having experience… are two entirely different things."

Vergil tried to move—but the Yamato trembled in his hand. And then Sepphirothy grabbed the blade. It didn't resist.

"First," she said, raising the sword in front of her face. "You don't even know how to use a sword. Yamato, stop listening to this impostor. Your true master could kill with his eyes closed. This one..." She glared at him with pure contempt. "He wouldn't even hurt a crying child."

"Second," she continued, twirling the blade with ease, "thinking that having so much power... without knowing how to use it... is the same as having no power at all."

She held out the Yamato to Sapphire, who took it with a cruel smile.

"Not even your own sword respects you." Sapphire said, twirling the blade with the familiarity of someone who has faced it before—and survived. "Imagine who's in there, looking at you. Trapped with you."

She laughed softly. A laugh that hurt more than any spell.

"How about we cut him until Vergil wakes up?"

"A worm like you would never consider that possibility..."

Sepphirothy finished, walking slowly around him like a predator.

Their smiles grew. Slow. Synchronized. Savage.

And in that moment, "Vergil," the false god between light and darkness, faced something that not even the hells were prepared to contain.

They were not heroines.

They were not saviors.

They were demons with too many scars to feel pity.