My Wives are Beautiful Demons-Chapter 675: Fase 1. Battle Royale IV

The silence that followed Alice's final blow lasted less than a second.

Because Loki wouldn't allow it.

The camera still showed the devastated field, the mana golem slowly raising its fist, Alice sitting like a bored empress… when the voice echoed throughout the entire arena, amplified by Gjallarhorn and sheer lack of common sense.

"HAHAHAHAHAHA!" Loki cackled, throwing his head back. "ARE YOU SEEING THIS?!"

He pointed dramatically at the screen, almost dropping his horn.

"A LITTLE GIRL!" he shouted, laughing like a lunatic. "A LITTLE GIRL JUST CRUSHED A COMPETITOR WITHOUT BLINKING!"

The entire arena murmured.

Some in shock.

Others in terror.

Some… fascinated.

"NO FEAR! NO HESITATION!" Loki continued, pacing back and forth. "SHE DIDN'T EVEN GET UP FROM HER CHAIR! THAT'S INCREDIBLE! THAT'S ART!"

He opened his arms.

"I LOVE THIS TOURNAMENT!"

On Olympus, Ares laughed loudly.

"Hah! At least someone here understands entertainment."

Athena didn't answer.

She observed Alice's image in absolute silence, her fingers lightly clenched on the arm of the throne. That magic… that control… it didn't fit into any strategic model she knew.

That wasn't training.

It was birth.

The transmission changed again.

Not to the forest.

But to the demons' VIP room.

The door opened without fanfare, but the presence was felt instantly.

Seris entered.

Her step was calm, but the air around her seemed heavier, denser. The conversations ceased naturally, as if the environment recognized someone who didn't need to announce authority. Sapphire and Sepphirothy stood near the enormous floor-to-ceiling window, observing the chaos of the arena reflected in the dark glass. The tournament lights painted distorted silhouettes on them.

The others—Katharina, Ada, Raphaeline, Roxanne, Stella, Vivianne—were seated in their armchairs, their eyes fixed on the screen, some still processing what they had just seen.

Seris stopped beside the two primordial demons.

For a moment, she simply observed.

"...So," she said finally, her voice low. "What do you think is happening?"

Sepphirothy didn't take her eyes off the window.

"It seems..." she began, choosing her words carefully, "after spying on Odin, I heard something curious."

Seris tilted her head slightly.

"Go on."

"He mentioned the birth of a 'King'." The word fell like an invisible blade.

Seris immediately became serious.

Her usual smile vanished. Her eyes narrowed, analyzing not only the images on the screen, but the implications behind them.

"King…" she murmured. "So it wasn't just paranoia."

Sapphire sighed, crossing her arms.

"At first," she said, "I really thought this tournament had a simple political purpose."

She turned slightly and pointed with her chin at the screen, where the image alternated between Vergil walking through the ruined forest… and Alice sitting on her golem, surrounded by perfect geometric destruction.

"Limiting the power of the factions. Pitting the greatest geniuses, champions, heirs, and monsters against each other. Bleeding them all until an 'equilibrium' is reached."

She paused.

"But that over there…" she continued, her tone heavier, "isn't competition."

Vivianne swallowed hard. "It's… inevitable."

Sapphire nodded.

"Vergil isn't fighting to win. He's walking toward a goal." She glanced at Alice. "And that child… doesn't even understand he's participating in a tournament."

Sepphirothy finally turned from the window.

Her crimson eyes were attentive, calculating… and, for the first time, there was something resembling caution in them.

"That," she said, "is already a guaranteed victory."

Seris let out a slow sigh.

"Two poles," she murmured.

She crossed her arms.

"If this continues, the tournament won't end with a champion."

Sapphire smiled sideways, a short, not at all amused smile.

"It will end with a change of era."

On the screen, the image froze for a moment on Vergil.

Walking.

Calm.

Focused. Then, in Alice.

Seated.

Momentary.

Sovereign.

And, for the first time since the beginning of the Celestial Tournament, a question began to silently spread among gods, demons, and observers too ancient to be easily impressed:

What if this had never been a contest…

…but an announcement?

The transmission returned to Vergil without warning.

No music.

No dramatic cut.

The camera simply found him.

He was sitting on a large, black rock, too smooth to be natural—the result of something that had melted and solidified there hours before. The surrounding forest was in forced silence. Not the living silence of night, but the cautious silence of something that had learned, through repeated losses, not to move without permission.

Vergil held a thick piece of meat.

Meat from a colossal bull-monster he had slaughtered minutes before.

The creature's corpse still lay a few meters behind, half its body reduced to charcoal, the other half surgically severed. The horns had been ripped off clean. The metallic smell of burnt blood mingled with an unexpectedly… appetizing aroma.

Yamato lay embedded in the ground beside him.

The blade had done the initial work—perfect cuts, separating fibers, bones, and nerves as if the body were merely a temporary concept. Then, Vergil snapped his fingers, and a bluish-white flame erupted in his palm. He grilled the meat right there.

Without seasoning.

Without haste.

The fire wasn't violent. It was controlled, constant, adjusted to the exact point. The fat sizzled softly as it dripped onto the heated rock.

Vergil took a bite.

He chewed slowly.

"…Not bad" he murmured.

Night was beginning to fall.

Not like a simple natural cycle — the labyrinth purposefully accelerated the twilight, trying to use the darkness to its advantage. Shadows stretched between the burnt trees, and small luminous particles of mana began to float in the air, like artificial fireflies.

The sky above the forest took on deep shades of purple and dark red.

Vergil observed everything with casual disinterest.

He leaned back slightly on the rock, resting his arm on his knee, continuing to eat as if he were in a peaceful camp… and not in the center of a tournament where gods died.

The important detail?

He didn't hide his presence.

In fact… he did the opposite.

Vergil's demonic aura was open.

Not aggressively expanded.

Not overwhelming as before.

Open.

Stable.

Like a bonfire in the middle of the night.

Anyone with the slightest magical sensitivity could feel it.

"He's… waiting," murmured Stella in the VIP room, leaning forward.

"No," corrected Sapphire, her eyes half-closed. "He's inviting."

In the forest, something moved.

First, far away.

Very far away.

Vergil continued eating, tearing another piece of meat with his teeth. He didn't look. He didn't react. But he knew.

Footsteps.

Too careful.

Then… more footsteps.

A group.

The labyrinth seemed to hold its breath.

Among the dark trees, eyes began to emerge.

Some gleamed gold.

Others red.

Others in strange, artificial shades.

Competitors.

Not monsters summoned by the scenery.

Real fighters.

Those who remained.

Vergil swallowed the last piece of meat and wiped his fingers on his pants, rising slowly. He picked Yamato up from the ground and slung it over his shoulder, still sheathed.

"...Come on," he said, in a calm, almost bored tone. "If you're going to come, come properly."

The first to appear was a tall man, covered in cracked plates of divine armor. Electrical energy crackled around his unstable body. His eyes were wide, not with hatred... but with barely contained fear.

"It's him..." someone whispered from the rear.

Another competitor appeared to the left, a woman enveloped in floating runic symbols, clearly trying to maintain an active barrier even while moving.

Three more to the right.

One of them was trembling.

"He's… eating…?" someone murmured, incredulous.

Vergil tilted his head, looking at the group.

Six.

Then seven.

Eight.

"You took your time," he said.

His voice echoed softly among the dead trees.

"I thought you'd come faster."

The man in armor stepped forward, swallowing hard.

"Y-you…" he began, his voice faltering. "You're Vergil, right?"

Vergil nodded once.

"I am."

Silence.

The night wind passed through the burnt trunks.

"What do you want?" asked the woman with the runes, trying to sound firm.

Vergil thought for a moment.

Really.

"Now?" he replied. "Nothing in particular."

Some of them exchanged confused glances. ""Then why…" someone began.

Vergil raised his hand, interrupting.

"But you're here" he said calmly. "And I had some free time."

The air shifted.

There was no aura explosion.

There was no overwhelming pressure.

But something invisible aligned.

As if the world had decided that that point… was the center.

"If you came to attack me" Vergil continued "do it now."

He supported Yamato on the ground.

"If you came to flee…" his eyes gleamed faintly in the darkness—it's too late.

The group hesitated.

For a full second.

Then someone shouted.

"ATTACK TOGETHER!"

Magic exploded.

Lightning, energy blades, seals, divine projectiles—everything converged on Vergil at once, illuminating the forest like a false dawn.

Vergil took a step forward.

The night flickered.

When the light ceased… he was still there.

Momentary.

The attacks had been… deflected.

Not blocked.

Not nullified.

Repositioned.

Vergil tilted his head slightly.

" …Was that all?"

He unsheathed Yamato.

The sound was low.

Elegant.

And then… the world before him was cut. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

Not in flesh.

Not in magic.

But in possibilities.

The transmission trembled.

In the VIP room, Sapphire closed her eyes for a second.

"He really made a bonfire" she murmured. "And all the insects came on their own."

In the forest, the night swallowed the screams.