My Wives are Beautiful Demons-Chapter 384: And why didn’t you come?

Sepphirothy stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Morrigan like invisible spears. The heat of the previous battle still lingered in the air, but now the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees. Even the dust began to settle with a strange calm, as if her presence altered the natural rhythm of things.

"Are you mocking my son?" Her voice came steady, low, without any hesitation. It was the kind of tone that pierced the chest without needing to raise the volume—a voice that carried history, authority, and the shadow of judgment.

Morrigan froze for a moment. A slight tremor ran down her spine, and even with the hot blood of the duel still pulsing in her veins, she felt the icy chill of Sepphirothy’s vivid memory. That presence she had felt so many times from a distance — and avoided for so long.

Instinctively, Morrigan’s aura increased. A dense field of dark energy enveloped her body like a second skin, a defensive reaction as automatic as breathing. She straightened her posture, ran her hand through her bloodied hair, and with a smile devoid of irony, said:

"Oh, Sepphirothy... when I heard you had returned, I thought about coming to see you."

Sepphirothy crossed his arms, his eyes half-closed. The light on his skin seemed outlined by a restrained but terribly solid tension.

"And why didn’t you come?"

Morrigan hesitated. There was no excuse that sounded worthy. There was no lie that could pass before that gaze.

"Fear," she said at last, honestly. "But it’s gone now."

There was silence. The kind that doesn’t ask for permission. A heavy silence, as if the world were holding its breath. Even Sapphire glanced sideways, surprised by the answer. Vergil just took half a step back, uncomfortable, like someone who realizes they’ve entered a room where ghosts are still at war.

Sepphirothy kept her eyes on Morrigan. Assessing. Weighing. She could feel it—not the lie, but the painful truth. The kind of truth that few people have the courage to admit out loud. Finally, she let out a long sigh and uncrossed her arms, relaxing her shoulders.

"Well," she said, "then don’t run away again."

Morrigan smiled. A small smile, almost relief. "I won’t. Not anymore."

Sepphirothy shrugged, but there was a slight softening in her expression. A trace of affection perhaps, hidden beneath layers of pride and pain.

"You still fight like a madwoman, Morrigan. But that one there..." she glanced at Sapphire, "...she almost got you."

"Almost," Morrigan replied, her pride hurt, but without denying it. "She’s too good."

"You’ve improved," Sepphirothy stated, as if that alone were a complete explanation—and it was. "Who taught you?" Sepphirothy looked at her very seriously after all... Those spear techniques weren’t taught by just anyone...

"Scathach," Morrigan said with a smile.

Sepphirothy paused. Her previously cold eyes now narrowed slightly, and an almost reverent silence fell over the group. Even the wind seemed to hesitate around them.

"Scathach," Sepphirothy repeated in a low voice, as if the name carried the weight of ages—and it did. She tilted her head to the side, analyzing Morrigan from head to toe with a gaze that seemed to pierce through flesh, bone, and soul. "So it’s true... She left the Dark Isle."

Morrigan merely nodded, a strange gleam in her eyes. "For a while. I don’t know why, or how long it will last. I only know that... she has chosen to train me."

Sepphirothy narrowed her eyes even further, and now there was something different there—not judgment, nor anger. It was respect. A hard, rare respect, like a precious stone buried under tons of history. She crossed her arms again, but the tension that had been there before was beginning to dissipate.

"She doesn’t choose randomly. She never has," Sepphirothy murmured. "She rejected me when I was nineteen."

Morrigan’s eyes widened in surprise. "She rejected you?"

"Twice." Sepphirothy shrugged. "She said my pride was greater than my discipline. And... she was right."

An awkward silence followed. Sapphire looked from one to the other, then to Vergil, who clearly had no idea who Scathach was, but understood from the tone that the name carried more weight than any title.

"So now it all makes sense..." Sepphirothy said at last, turning her eyes back to Morrigan. "The way you balance your base. The steadiness of your center of gravity. Reading feints before impact... That’s not instinct. It’s doctrine."

Morrigan smiled wider this time. "It hurt like hell. But it was worth it."

Sepphirothy finally relaxed her shoulders and took a slight step forward, stopping in front of Morrigan. The two women, now closer, seemed to finally be talking as equals, not as shadows of the past about to collide.

"If she chose you... then maybe I judged you wrong." Sepphirothy tilted her head slightly. "It’s not easy to admit that."

Morrigan hesitated, surprised. "Are you... apologizing to me?"

"No." The answer was dry, but not cruel. "Just acknowledging that the fear you felt may not have been cowardice. Maybe it was just... maturity."

The words hung in the air like a sheathed sword. There were no apologies. No hurt. Just the kind of understanding that only comes after blood has been spilled—and courage exposed.

The two women looked at each other in silence, and for a brief moment, it seemed that the world had finally found balance in that tense and honest moment.

Until Vergil opened his mouth.

"Okay, wait..." he said, raising his hands as if asking for a pause in the middle of a bloody opera. "Who the fuck is Scathach?"

The silence was instantly shattered. Morrigan let out a muffled sigh. Sapphire rolled her eyes. Sepphirothy just closed his eyes for a second, as if counting to ten—or deciding whether it was worth crushing him with a tree trunk.

"I mean..." Vergil continued, seemingly oblivious to the general discomfort, "you guys are here, full of history, power, resentment, epic struggles, talking about a legendary master as if she were the neighbor who teaches crochet, and I... literally don’t know what’s going on!"

"She’s the greatest spear combat master the world has ever known," Sapphire replied, as if explaining the periodic table to an impatient child. "She trained gods. She haunts legends. And if she looks at you the wrong way, your soul disintegrates before your body does."

Vergil blinked. "Cool. So... like the Yoda of spears?"

"If Yoda made you bleed until you learned to breathe right, yes," Morrigan grumbled.

"Okay. Cool." Vergil nodded slowly, trying to digest it. He turned to Sapphire and Sepphirothy, "But... what about the Orbs? Does anyone remember the damn Dragon Empress Orbs? Just to confirm: does that still matter, or are we officially free of that problem?"

Sapphire and Sepphirothy looked at each other... "Damn... it’s true, isn’t it?" Sapphire said...

"I forgot the Platinum Empress..." Sepphirothy said...

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