My Wives are Beautiful Demons-Chapter 666: Just Two Hours

Brynhild blinked, clearly lost.

She looked from Aphrodite to Vergil… and then back to Aphrodite.

"…Husband?" she repeated, unable to hide the disbelief in her voice. "What's this all about?"

Aphrodite stopped a few steps from the sofa, leaning slightly forward, as if finally noticing Brynhild with real attention. A slow, mischievous smile formed on her rosy lips.

"Oh?" She raised a perfect eyebrow. "She doesn't know."

Vergil sighed again, already resigned, bringing his drink to his lips as if preferring to watch the chaos from the sidelines.

Aphrodite took another step forward, the golden fabrics rippling around her legs like liquid light. Her eyes slid over Brynhild from head to toe—assessing, teasing.

"How cute," she commented, with feigned sweetness. "The Queen of the Valkyries doesn't know she's sitting on my husband's metaphorical lap."

Brynhild felt her face flush immediately. She instinctively shifted slightly, but didn't stand up yet. Her gaze shifted to Vergil, demanding.

"Vergil?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Technically, she decided that herself."

Aphrodite let out a crystalline chuckle.

"See?" she said, satisfied. "He never denies it. That's one of the reasons I adore him." She then turned back to Brynhild, her smile now sharper. "But you… are confusing some things."

She reached out and, with two fingers, gently nudged Brynhild's shoulder—not forcefully, but with enough intention to mark her territory.

"Get away from my husband, Valkyrie."

The tone was sweet. The message, not so much.

The air around them seemed to vibrate slightly, laden with a heavy, almost suffocating, divine charm. Brynhild felt the pressure—not physical, but emotional, instinctive. Aphrodite wasn't threatening with brute force. She was imposing her presence.

Brynhild stood slowly, keeping her gaze steady.

"With all due respect, Goddess Aphrodite," she said, controlling each syllable, "I didn't approach. I was invited."

Aphrodite tilted her head, feigning surprise.

"Ah, of course~" She smiled. "They always are."

Vergil finally laughed.

A low, amused laugh, genuinely entertained.

"You two are going to end up tearing the whole box down," he commented, relaxed. "And I haven't even started fighting yet."

Aphrodite turned to him immediately, her smile melting with affection. "You're too good for someone about to start a divine war."

"I know," he replied calmly. She moved closer, leaning against the back of the sofa beside him, casting one last victorious glance at Brynhild.

"Now," Aphrodite said in a sing-song tone, "be a good girl and let the adults talk."

Brynhild clenched her teeth for a moment—but maintained her composure.

She took a step back, then another, stopping near the wall. Her gaze shifted to Vergil, and for a second there was something there—not jealousy, but a mixture of alertness, curiosity, and something she didn't yet dare name.

Vergil held her gaze for a moment.

Then, he shrugged.

The screen ahead finally lit up, showing the arena slowly filling.

Aphrodite wasted no time.

As soon as the screen came to life and the arena began to fill, she sat down beside Vergil with utter naturalness, as if it were the most obvious place in the world. In one fluid movement, she wrapped her arms around him, settling against his chest, her face too close for any doubt about intimacy.

Brynhild instinctively looked away.

Aphrodite sighed softly, a long, almost satisfied sigh, as she observed the arena.

"So…" she began casually, playing with the fabric of his clothes between her fingers. "That problem was solved?"

Vergil tilted his head back slightly, leaning more comfortably on the sofa.

"It was," he replied bluntly. A half-smile appeared. "And it was… quite satisfactory."

Aphrodite narrowed her eyes immediately.

"Hmm." Her tone was drawn out, heavy with suspicion. She turned to face him, staring closely at him. "Satisfactory how, exactly?"

Vergil raised an eyebrow, already anticipating where this conversation was going.

"You know," he said, with feigned innocence. "Solved."

She pouted irritably.

"Of course I know." Aphrodite crossed her arms for a second, then hugged him again. "But still…" She huffed. "Sleeping with mother and daughter must be exhausting."

Brynhild choked on her own breath.

She turned her face so quickly she almost lost her balance.

"—What?!"

Vergil, on the other hand, just laughed.

A loose, honest, almost proud laugh.

"It was," he replied without the slightest shame. "My legs still hurt."

Aphrodite's eyes widened for a moment… and then she grimaced, clearly torn between jealousy and indignation.

"Vergil!"

He shrugged calmly. "But it's alright. Nothing a rest before the tournament won't fix."

She stared at him for a few seconds, trying to decide whether to be furious or laugh.

She ended up laughing.

A short laugh, half annoyed, half amused.

"You're impossible," she grumbled, resting her forehead on his shoulder. "I leave for a while and you're already causing a mythological scandal."

"I call that efficiency," he replied, sipping his drink.

Aphrodite sighed, but snuggled even closer, clearly complaining… without actually moving away.

Brynhild remained motionless near the wall, her face hot, her mind in complete chaos.

She definitely hadn't been trained for this.

On the screen, the tournament announcement began to echo through the arena.

The screen shone more intensely, the image of the arena stabilizing as ancient symbols appeared at the edges of the projection. A deep voice, amplified by magic and echoing throughout the coliseum, filled the room.

"Attention, competitors and spectators."

The stands on the screen erupted in anticipation.

"The tournament will begin in two hours. All combatants must remain in their respective sectors until further notice."

The announcement repeated itself in several languages—mortal, divine, and things far more ancient—before slowly fading away.

Vergil let out a soft whistle.

"Two hours." He relaxed even more on the sofa. "We have plenty of time, then."

Aphrodite smiled immediately.

"Enough time," she murmured, satisfied.

Vergil raised a hand and began to playfully stroke the golden strands of her hair, twirling a lock between his fingers and then releasing it, in a slow, intimate gesture, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Aphrodite closed her eyes for a moment, clearly appreciating the caress.

Without any ceremony, she moved, climbing onto his lap fluidly, settling sideways before turning completely and lying on his chest. Her head rested just below Vergil's chin, her body relaxed, confident, utterly comfortable.

He didn't protest.

He merely rested an arm around her, maintaining the possessive gesture lazily.

"You always choose the best places to wait for chaos," she commented, her voice soft, almost purring.

"Experience," he replied, without taking his eyes off the screen. "And good taste."

Aphrodite chuckled softly and adjusted herself, as if she had found the perfect position. A goddess of love—not powerful, not dominant, not distant—but tranquil, content, clearly happy to be there.

Brynhild watched the scene as if she were witnessing something… too wrong to make sense.

She had seen Aphrodite in divine councils, at parties, in political intrigues and power games. Always haughty. Always in control. Always manipulating other people's emotions like pieces on a chessboard.

Now?

She was there. Relaxed. Snuggled. Obedient to Vergil's rhythm without him needing to say a single word.

Brynhild swallowed hard.

She had no idea what to say.

Or what to think.

The contrast was unsettling.

The Goddess of Love—one of the most influential forces on Olympus—reduced to a tranquil presence in the lap of a man who didn't even seem to be trying to dominate her.

Vergil noticed the prolonged silence.

Without looking directly at Brynhild, he commented, almost distractedly:

"You can relax, Brynhild. It's not time to fight yet."

She blinked, returning to reality.

"I… yes. Of course." The answer came out too automatically.

Aphrodite opened one eye and cast an amused glance at the Valkyrie.

"Relax," she said, with a lazy smile. "He doesn't bite… much."

Vergil let out a low laugh. Brynhild looked away again, her face still hot.

Two hours.

And, for the first time since assuming the role of Queen of the Valkyries, Brynhild had the strange feeling that this tournament was not only putting gods and mortals at risk… but also the certainties she considered unshakable.

…

In another VIP section of the coliseum—identical in structure to Vergil's, but with a completely different atmosphere—the air was thick with tension.

Yama paced back and forth, her firm steps echoing on the black marble floor. The train of her ceremonial robe trailed slightly as she gestured irritably, her expression hardened, her eyes burning with suspicion.

"This doesn't make sense," she muttered, stopping abruptly. "The rules just changing like that, without warning?" She gritted her teeth. "This reeks of manipulation."

She resumed pacing, running a hand through her hair, visibly nervous.

"I bet everything this is that damned monkey's fault." Yama snorted. "Wukong. Always Wukong. When things get out of control, it's always him."

On the sofa, completely oblivious to the nervousness that dominated the room, Dante lay sprawled out in an almost offensively relaxed manner. One leg crossed over the arm of the sofa, a glass of red wine in his hand, slowly swirling the liquid while observing the reflection of the light.

Beside him, Angelo remained seated rigidly, impeccable posture, hands resting on his knees, his gaze fixed ahead like a soldier on absolute alert. He said nothing. He never spoke unless necessary.

Dante took a calm sip of his wine before speaking.

"Hey, hey… relax." He raised his glass towards Yama, as if toasting her irritation. "You'll end up with wrinkles before your time."

Yama shot him a murderous look.

"This is no joke, Dante." She stopped walking and faced him. "This tournament has changed its nature. It's no longer just a ritualistic confrontation. It's become a hunt."

Dante shrugged, completely unconcerned.

"Yes, I noticed." He rested his head on the back of the chair, smiling slightly. "But let's be honest… when have things not gone downhill?"

Yama opened her mouth to retort, but Dante raised a finger, interrupting her.

"Besides," he continued calmly, "there's no point in freaking out now." He tilted his glass once more, the wine swirling slowly. "My superiors should already be on their way. Sit back and relax, partner."