My Wives are Beautiful Demons-Chapter 677: Phase 1. Battle Royale VI

"Vergil..." Wu Tian murmured, almost casually.

"You’re going to have trouble with that guy."

The words came out lightly, but his body didn’t match the tone. The next instant, the pain came...

It was as if billions of needles were piercing his flesh at once, not piercing muscles or bones, but something deeper. His soul.

Wu Tian clenched his teeth. The staff almost slipped from his fingers.

Even so, he smiled.

Not a calm smile. A smug smile. The smile of someone who believes he can win, even knowing, deep down, that fate had already chosen its favorite in that fight.

"I’m sorry, master..." he murmured, his thoughts inevitably going to the mischievous monkey who had trained, humiliated, and molded him. "I guess I won’t be surprising you today."

He twirled the staff once and assumed a battle stance, pointing it behind him, his body leaning forward, his feet firm despite the involuntary trembling.

He looked at himself; he was defeated. All that kept him standing was his will to show his master what he was capable of.

Wu Tian took a deep breath.

The air burned in his lungs. The energy that remained circulated erratically, forced, like a dammed river about to burst. He knew. Any other competitor would have already fallen.

Angelo, on the other hand, showed nothing.

He only observed.

Wu Tian raised his gaze and, for the first time, understood.

That thing... wasn’t even alive.

There was no emotional flow, no instinct, no hesitation. It was a perfect body, built to perform. A homunculus. A shell. But inside... there was an absurd soul, compressed, dense, too ancient to belong to that world.

And the power... The power didn’t overflow. It was contained within that armor without leaking a single drop out.

Wu Tian swallowed hard.

Not even his most refined martial arts could compare to that silent, absolute... and oppressive force.

Still, he didn’t back down. Why would he? He was a warrior.

"So..." he murmured, a tired smile spreading across his face. "Let’s go." He pointed the staff forward, "Come."

Angelo responded to the invitation without a word, just a step forward.

There was no running, no visible momentum.

A single step and the space between them simply ceased to exist.

Wu Tian reacted instinctively, spinning the staff in a perfect defensive trajectory, his body following with absolute precision, as Wukong had taught him.

Wood found energy.

The impact didn’t explode.

It sank.

The shock coursed through the staff, through Wu Tian’s arms, and spread through his torso like a wrong tide. He was pushed back, his feet tearing the ground, carving deep furrows in the earth that still steamed from the previous attack.

He didn’t fall; he held firm with willpower. But something in his body, something inside him, began to give way rapidly.

Wu Tian first felt heat, something warm. Then it was like an itch... And then...

A sharp pain.

He clenched his teeth when he realized it wasn’t an ordinary wound. The energy that had passed through him before was still there. After losing all his defenses, he thought that energy had dissipated...

A grotesque mistake. It was very much inside him.

Like a parasite.

The skin on his forearm began to crack.

Not on the outside.

From the inside out.

Fine lines opened like cracks in porcelain, and distorted light leaked through them, accompanied by blood. Wu Tian gasped, the staff trembling in his hands.

"So that’s it..." he murmured, with a crooked half-smile. "Damn parasite..."

Angelo tilted his head slightly.

Then, he attacked again.

Wu Tian advanced this time, refusing to retreat. The staff described rapid arcs, successive blows, each one charged with pure technique—feints, variations, changes of rhythm that would make even veteran gods lose their composure.

Some blows landed.

Angelo’s armor was struck in the shoulder, the side of the chest, the knee.

Nothing happened.

No reaction.

No change.

Angelo turned his body and responded with a dry, direct blow, without wasting any effort. Wu Tian blocked, or rather... tried to.

The impact pierced the staff as if it were merely a fragile concept, and the energy surged back into his body.

Wu Tian screamed.

This time, he couldn’t contain it.

Fissures spread across his chest, neck, and back. His skin tore slowly, as if something were pushing from within, trying to be born. Blood oozed, vaporizing as it touched the hot ground.

His knees almost gave way... Almost... He spat blood and forced his body to stand upright. "Heh..." he chuckled weakly. "Master... you always said I got beaten too easily."

The energy parasite moved.

Wu Tian felt as if invisible claws were scratching at his organs, corroding his vital energy, converting it into something incompatible with his own body. Each breath was a conscious effort. Each heartbeat felt delayed.

Yet, his eyes remained sharp.

"I’m still here," he said, raising the staff once more.

Angelo stopped.

He watched.

For a brief instant, something shifted in the pressure around him. Not emotion. Not curiosity. Assessment.

Wu Tian noticed. And smiled genuinely. "Ah..." he murmured. "So I managed this at least."

He advanced one last time, ignoring his own body crumbling, channeling all that remained into a single movement. The staff gleamed, heavy with intention, not brute power—a strike that carried name, legacy, and challenge.

Angelo raised the blade.

Angelo did not respond to the strike.

He ended the strike.

The instant Wu Tian lunged forward, channeling what remained of himself into that final movement, the world seemed to slow down. The staff descended in a perfect trajectory, an arc carrying everything Wukong had placed within it.

And, for a fraction of a second...

Angelo waited.

His blade moved.

It wasn’t a wide cut.

It wasn’t a theatrical strike.

It was short. Precise. Surgical.

The sword pierced the air without resistance, and the surrounding space yielded, as if compelled to make way. Wu Tian’s staff was split in two before it even understood it had been struck...

The cut went through Wu Tian’s chest.

Not from the outside in.

From the inside out.

The parasitic energy responded to the blade’s command like an animal recognizing its owner. It exploded inside Wu Tian’s body, tearing muscles, rupturing organs, pushing bones outward. The fissures that were once lines became open cracks, and then... ruptures.

Wu Tian’s eyes widened.

The sound that escaped his throat wasn’t a scream... it was a wet gasp, interrupted by the very blood that surged into his mouth. His torso arched backward as energy tore through his flesh as if erupting.

Ribs snapped and jutted out of his chest.

Skin split open into jagged plates.

Distorted light gushed out along with vaporized blood.

He fell to his knees.

Still alive.

For a second too terrible.

Angelo stepped forward and pressed the blade against Wu Tian’s shoulder, pushing him down, forcing him to face the scorched ground of the destroyed forest.

Wu Tian spat blood.

Even so... he smiled.

"Heh..." the voice came out weak, broken. "I think... I really... wasn’t going to win today..."

His vision blurred. The parasite devoured what remained of his soul, converting it into raw fuel. Every thought was heavy. Every memory... distant.

"Master..." he murmured, almost inaudibly. "You... are a wretch who holds all bad luck... in the first round, an opponent like that... damned monkey..."

Angelo didn’t react.

The blade descended.

There was no horizontal cut.

He plunged the sword into Wu Tian’s back, piercing his heart and exiting through his chest in a brutal gush of blood and energy. The impact lifted the body off the ground for an instant before dropping it like a broken object.

The parasite collapsed.

It exploded silently.

Wu Tian’s body fell forward, inert, smoking, cracked like a statue broken from the inside. His gaze was still open—not with fear, but with unfinished defiance.

Angelo drew his blade.

Blood trickled in thick lines down the sword and dripped onto the ground, burning where it touched.

He stood there for a moment.

Momentary.

Then he turned.

Without ceremony.

Without triumph.

Without looking back.

In the broadcast, the silence was absolute.

And, somewhere far from the arena, something creaked.

Like a stick being squeezed too tightly by old, hairy fingers.

Wukong had felt it... And, for the first time since the start of the tournament... He wasn’t smiling.

The darkness didn’t last.

It ended abruptly, like someone slapping off an old lamp.

Wu Tian inhaled sharply—too sharply—and sat up with a start, his whole body reacting as if it were still being torn apart from the inside.

"GAH—!"

He put his hand to his chest.

Nothing.

No hole.

No blood.

No parasite devouring his soul.

"...Huh?"

The smell of burning forest had vanished. In its place, there was incense. Hot tea. Overly comfortable pillows.

Wu Tian blinked.

He blinked again.

"...Am I dead?"

"No," replied a calm, almost amused voice. "Just humiliated."

Wu Tian turned his head slowly.

VIP area.

Golden walls, floating columns, an absurd view of the arena below... and two overwhelming presences right in front of him.

To the left, Buddha.

Seated calmly, legs crossed in the air, holding a teacup as if watching a play. He smiled gently.

"You died very well," he said. "A seven and a half. You lacked spiritual enlightenment."

Wu Tian opened his mouth.

"I-I—"

"Shhh." Buddha raised a finger. "Later."

To the right...

Wu Tian froze.

There was Wukong.

Or rather.

Her.

Long golden hair tied in a high ponytail, short battle clothes, a tail swaying slowly behind her body—and the eyes.

Demonic eyes.

Black as the depths of hell, with golden pupils gleaming in an unhealthy way.

She was leaning forward, elbows resting on her knees, chin on her hands.

Smiling.

That smile.

"..." Wu Tian swallowed hard. "Master...?"

Wukong’s smile flickered.

"Die," she repeated, too sweetly.

"In the first round. Are you kidding me?"

The air in the room grew heavy.

Wu Tian felt a shiver run down his spine.

"I-I fought with everything I had!" he quickly defended himself. "The guy was an absurd homunculus, with a compressed soul, and had an energy parasite that—"

Wukong snapped his fingers.

CRACK.

The chair behind Wu Tian turned to dust.

He fell to the floor with a rather undignified thump.

"Ah, of course," she said, standing up. "There’s always a wonderful technical explanation when you GET BEATEN TO DEATH."

"Master, I—!"

She appeared in front of him.

She simply appeared.

Wu Tian slowly looked up.

Wrong.

Wukong was smiling very calmly.

"Do you know how many of my disciples have died?" she asked, in an almost casual tone.

"...H-how many?"

"None."

Silence.

"Do you know how many were resurrected afterward?" she continued.

Wu Tian broke out in a cold sweat.

"...I...?"

"Exactly."

She turned to the side, crossing her arms, her tail whipping the air angrily.

"I trained you to be annoying, insolent, impossible to kill, and especially not to lose badly like this."

"Hey," Buddha interjected, smiling. "He maintained his composure until the end. That deserves credit."

Wukong slowly turned his face to Buddha.

"Are you defending him?"

"I’m observing the karma," Buddha replied calmly. "And finding it funny."

Wu Tian raised his hand timidly.

"Master... you saw everything, didn’t you?"

Wukong looked back at him.

Her demonic eyes softened... just a little.

"I saw." She sighed. "I saw you bleed, I saw you laugh, I saw you advance when anyone else would have run."

She approached once more and gave him a sharp smack on the head.

"IDIOT."

"OW!"

"But he was a brave idiot."

Wu Tian blinked.

"...So you’re not... that angry?"

Wukong smiled slightly.

"I’m furious." She leaned in until she was face to face with him. "You’re a fool, I’m disappointed and furious," she said with disgust, "But you served a purpose."

She said and pointed to the various screens. And in the place where Wu Tian’s body had been annihilated, someone was already there.

Tall, white hair, blue eyes, a katana in its sheath.

"Well, if it serves a purpose," Buddha said smiling, "You gave the Demon King the enemy’s lethal weapon before a war even began." He said smiling.

Wukong crossed his arms. "Don’t think that erases the humiliation. When this is over, I’ll quadruple the training. You worthless thing."

Wukong sighed, "And it seems..." he murmured, watching the screens... Everyone was heading towards Angelo and Vergil... He looked around and saw that the "Gas" of the battle royale was closing in.