My Wives are Beautiful Demons-Chapter 403: Can I kill them all?
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Chapter 403: Can I kill them all?
“I’m going to kill everyone.”
Vergil’s voice cut through the silence of the carriage like a blade dipped in poison. His eyes glowed red and menacing, his fists clenched as if he could crush the very air itself. He swallowed hard, trying to contain the thirst for blood that burned in his body like living fire. Every lecherous glance, every poisoned sigh of desire coming from the demonic crowd outside… all of it was a direct test of his sanity.
“I’m going to kill—”
“You’re not going to do anything.”
Katharina interrupted him gently, but her voice had the weight of a divine decree. She wrapped her right arm around Vergil’s affectionately and, in a calculatedly adorable gesture, rested her head on his shoulder, the warmth of her red hair contrasting with the sudden chill that had settled over the atmosphere.
“If you do that… I’ll divorce you.”
The threat was spoken in a sweet, almost playful tone—and yet it was enough.
Vergil froze. Literally.
The ceremonial carriage, made of carved bones and enchanted black mirrors, shook gently along the main streets leading to Abbadon Castle, the beating heart of the demonic world. The road they traveled was a sacred and ceremonial one, lined with crowds of demons, servants, and low-ranking nobles—all waiting to see the new King’s chosen ones.
And the damned… watched.
Each demon dared to raise their eyes toward the figures inside the carriage. Long, curious… or covetous glances. And that was intolerable.
Ada, sitting elegantly opposite the window, let out a small sigh.
“They stare because they are fools,” she said coldly. “You are the King. They are dust.”
Roxanne, more relaxed, swung her crossed feet, smiling as she peered out the window and waved like a true insolent princess.
“I think it’s cute. We’ve never been so admired at the same time. They know they could never touch us.”
Vergil took a deep breath, trying to ignore the blood boiling in his veins. He was impeccable in his ceremonial attire, a black cloak embroidered in silver, with partial armor encasing his chest—a symbol of his newly acquired infernal authority. But at that moment, he looked more like a predator cornered by his own desire for protection.
“They’re lucky they’re still breathing,” he muttered through clenched teeth. At the same time… ‘How about killing them all, master?!’ Itharine in Vergil’s shadows demanded retribution!
‘Calm down, I’ll have my new subordinates play with each one! I’ll kill them all while they sleep.’ The red eyes turned purple again.
Katharina lifted her face and touched his chin with a sharp smile.
“You are our love. Don’t stoop to cutting insects. You just… crush them with your social difference.”
He didn’t answer, but his muscles relaxed. The cold around him dissipated slightly.
Outside, drums beat like doomed hearts, announcing with ceremonial thunder the approach of the new King and his consorts’ carriage to Abbadon Castle. The sky—a tapestry of black, magical clouds—twisted like celestial serpents, whispering omens in forgotten tongues. The air was impregnated with the peculiar scent of great demonic festivals: fresh blood, dead flowers, and incense made from ground bones.
Inside the carriage, the atmosphere was one of restrained tension and absolute beauty. Luxurious dresses, ceremonial robes of power, glances sharpening wills like blades. Katharina, leaning her head on Vergil’s shoulder, looked at an empty seat with a slightly curious expression.
Then, as if the air had been cut by a feather of absolute silence, a gentle breeze—impossible in that windless world—blown through the carriage.
And there, sitting with the grace of an empress who never asks permission, appeared Stella Sitri.
The space around her seemed to yield, bowing in respect to her presence. Her dress was white as snow that had never touched the demonic world, but the dull shine of her jewels and the almost ethereal outline of her form revealed that she was not made of the same matter as the others. She sat cross-legged, her posture impeccable, her eyes—one gold and one silver—sparkling with unsettling calm.
“Sorry for the delay,” she said with a serene smile, as if she had just left a meeting with eternity.
Roxanne let out a light laugh, clearly accustomed to her mother’s dramatic entrance.
Before anyone could respond, the air changed again. A trickle of blood—like a living river tracing its path through space—appeared beside Vergil, twisting in elegant spirals until it took the form of Raphaeline.
“You could have waited for me, you know?” she said, materializing with sensual elegance, dressed in her dark purple kimono where a golden dragon seemed to move slowly between the threads.
She sat down next to Vergil as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her gaze swept over every face in the carriage with familiarity—and a touch of defiance.
“I thought the King would wait for all his Queens,” she said, resting her hand on Vergil’s knee with a slight, provocative smile.
Vergil glanced sideways at the two new arrivals, his jaw still tense, but now more… resigned. He already felt at the limit of his control with the mere presence of his three wives. Now, with the two matriarchs there—both too powerful for any attempt at command—the air was thick with tension.
“If anyone else shows up in this carriage, I’ll throw myself out the window,” he muttered, low enough that only Katharina could hear.
She laughed. Really laughed.
“Don’t complain. You’re the most envied man in the demon world right now.”
“Yes. But no one mentioned the cardiac stress that comes with it.”
On the opposite side, Stella watched silently, her eyes fixed on Vergil for a moment long enough to make him uncomfortable — and then she smiled. The kind of smile that mothers of princesses give when they recognize something… promising.
“You’re doing better than I expected,” she commented, with the naturalness of someone evaluating a well-forged sword.
Raphaeline nodded lightly. “For now, at least.”
The carriage slowed… and stopped with a sudden, unexpected jolt.
The sound of drums ceased, and a restless murmur replaced the ceremonial music. The clouds above stirred in response, as if the demonic sky itself sensed the disturbance. The consorts looked at each other in silence. Vergil merely frowned.
A moment later, one of the ceremonial vanguard guards appeared beside the carriage, sweating profusely despite his scaly skin and the cold environment around him. His wide eyes betrayed something more than mere bureaucracy. He cleared his throat before speaking, as if the words had to be spat out with effort.
“M-Majesty… sir… there is a… problem on the road. We need to… uh… wait a moment. An… incident.”
The carriage door opened with a subtle click. The guard paled—which was impressive, considering his skin was already greenish and dry as leather.
Vergil appeared, slowly, like night swallowing the last ray of sunlight. His footsteps sounded heavy, not because of the impact on the ground, but because of the weight of authority that accompanied them.
He looked at the guard for two seconds. Two seconds long enough for the demon to tremble from head to hooves, his posture hunched and his gaze avoiding direct contact with the King’s face.
Vergil sighed. Low. Dangerous.
“What kind of ‘problem’?” he asked, his voice laden with threatening fatigue. He was not in a patient mood. Not today.
The guard swallowed hard and pointed ahead. “A… a fight, Your Majesty. Between a… a Fourth Layer Demon Warrior and an elite Minotaur. They’ve blocked the road of honor. They’re breaking everything.”
Vergil didn’t answer. He just started walking.
The guards quickly and fearfully cleared the way. Once he was completely off the ceremonial path, Vergil could see the source of the commotion: a giant demonoid nearly four meters tall, with skin as red as raw flesh, mystical tattoos glowing with forbidden runes, and an axe still stuck in an obelisk that, until a few minutes ago, had adorned the edge of the sacred avenue.
On the other side, a colossal Minotaur, with horns adorned in black gold and ritual armor that was now partially in pieces, snorted steam through his nostrils. He roared insults in an ancient language, pointing angrily at his rival.
He looked at Katharina… “You can kill him… this time you can.” She said smiling.
