My Wives are Beautiful Demons-Chapter 681: I Found you, Atena.
The purple gas advanced.
Not like an ordinary mist, but like a living entity—crawling, heavy, saturated with divine poison. Wherever it touched, vegetation died instantly, reduced to blackened ash. The Battle Royale circle was closing in—too slow to allow escape, too fast to allow mistakes.
She was running.
The white-and-gold armor reflected the distorted light of the field, plates fitted perfectly to her body, elegant without sacrificing mobility. Her helmet hung at her waist; her long hair, a pale lilac shade, streamed behind her as she moved toward the permitted edges of the arena.
In her right hand, a long sword—silver blade etched with ancient inscriptions that did not glow—they watched.
On her left arm, a circular shield, adorned with a complex geometric symbol, older than any current pantheon.
She wasn’t breathing heavily.
Her focus was absolute.
Then, the ground ahead of her split open.
Two bodies emerged like predators revealing their fangs.
"We found you."
The voice came from the first: tall, broad, wrapped in dark pelts and runes carved directly into his flesh. A double-bladed axe rested on his shoulder, pulsing with icy energy.
The second did not speak. He only smiled.
More slender, clad in blue-gray armor, he wielded two short spears made of black ice. His eyes shone like dead stars.
Envoys of the Norse gods.
Hunters.
She stopped running.
Turned slowly.
The purple gas continued advancing behind her, closing the space. There was no escape route. They knew it.
"You arrived too late," she said, her voice calm, steady, without arrogance.
The axe wielder laughed.
"The goddess you serve won’t save you here."
She raised her shield.
"I don’t need saving."
The first charged like an avalanche.
The axe came down in a brutal arc, loaded with enough force to split mountains. She didn’t block it head-on. She twisted her body, angling the shield just right, deflecting the blade by mere centimeters.
Even so, the impact hurled her several meters back, her feet tearing into the ground.
Before she could regain her balance, the second was already airborne.
The spears were thrown in perfect sequence, their trajectories crossing, freezing the space they passed through.
She raised her sword.
Not to cut.
To decide.
The blade traced a clean arc. The air vibrated. One spear shattered into fragments of ice. The other was deflected by the shield, ricocheting away.
She advanced.
The spear-wielding warrior tried to retreat—fatal mistake.
She appeared in front of him in the blink of an eye, the shield slamming into his chest with focused, non-explosive force. The impact shattered ribs, crushed internal organs, halted any attempt at defense.
The sword pierced his neck in the same motion.
Without hesitation.
Without emotion.
The body fell before it could even understand it was dead.
The axe wielder roared.
His aura exploded in primal fury. Rune after rune ignited on his skin, releasing ancestral energy. The ground froze beneath his feet as he charged again—faster, heavier.
She took a deep breath.
And waited.
At the last instant, when the axe descended with full force, she turned the shield upward.
The geometric symbol glowed.
Not with light.
With authority.
The axe stopped.
Literally.
The blade hovered just centimeters from the shield, trembling, as if caught in something invisible. The warrior’s eyes widened.
"What—"
Her sword pierced straight through his chest.
Direct.
Precise.
Lethal.
She twisted the blade and pulled it free. The body dropped to its knees, then fell forward, dead before it touched the ground.
Silence.
The purple gas was now dangerously close.
She wiped the blade clean in a single motion and resumed running.
Then... she felt it.
She stopped again.
It wasn’t an attack.
It wasn’t a sound.
It was a presence.
A colossal aura spread across the field like a delayed impact. It didn’t come from a single point—it came from all directions at once, as if space itself were being pressed by something that didn’t fit within it.
She felt the weight on her chest.
Not fear.
Assessment.
Strategy.
Instinct.
She raised her gaze.
And then she saw it.
The sky tore open.
A body appeared, flying at extreme speed, spinning uncontrollably, wrapped in residual red-and-black energy. It crossed the field like a divine projectile, slamming into the ground hundreds of meters away.
The impact was devastating.
Earth, rock, and enchanted fragments were hurled into the air like a delayed explosion. The ground split into a deep furrow as the body continued to be dragged by absurd inertia.
Her eyes widened slightly.
The body slid.
Scraped.
Shattered.
Until it nearly reached the edge of the purple gas.
It stopped just meters from the poisonous mist.
It was Shura.
The son of Shiva was unrecognizable.
His body was covered in deep wounds, muscles torn, blood spread across the ground. The energy that once exploded from him now leaked irregularly, like embers on the verge of going out.
And yet...
He moved.
Laughed.
Even while coughing up blood.
"Heh..." the voice came out hoarse, broken, but alive. "Almost..."
She remained still.
Watching.
Calculating.
Behind her, the purple gas advanced. Ahead, a demigod who had been thrown like trash by something even worse.
And above all...
That aura.
That pressure.
She tightened her grip on the shield.
She planted her feet firmly on the ground.
The purple gas crept along the edges of her vision as a constant reminder that time was not on her side. Still, for a brief instant, everything around her seemed to slow down. The suspended dust. The distant echoes of battle. The weight of that monstrous aura still reverberating through the field.
She brought the shield forward, the sword aligned with her body.
Perfect posture.
Prepared for the worst.
Shura moved.
The demigod rose with a dry crack of bones rearranging themselves. He ran a hand over his blood-covered arms, wiping them clean as if brushing off dirt after a heavy workout. His smile was crooked, tired... and genuinely excited.
"Heh..." he spat to the side, dark blood staining the ground. "That guy really is a monster."
He looked toward the distant direction from which he’d been launched, as if he could see through kilometers of destruction.
"It’s been a long time since I’ve been thrown like that."
Then, without even glancing at her, Shura bent his legs.
The air exploded beneath his feet. 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢
He flew.
He didn’t jump. He didn’t run. He was launched into the sky like a missile, his body wrapped in pulsing red energy as he vanished into the horizon toward the center of the chaos—back to the presence that had crushed him.
She remained still for a few seconds.
Then... she sighed.
Her shoulders relaxed just slightly.
"Fighting the son of Shiva..." she murmured to herself. "That would be suicide."
For a rare instant, she allowed the tension to ease.
Mistake.
The whistle sliced through the air.
Pure instinct.
She turned her head and raised her hand in the same motion.
CLACK.
The arrow stopped just centimeters from her face, caught between two fingers. The shaft vibrated violently, still charged with divine energy. Had it advanced one more inch, it would have pierced her skull.
She narrowed her eyes.
Turned slowly toward the direction the attack had come from.
Without saying a word, she twisted her wrist and hurled the arrow back.
The projectile crossed the field in a perfect line.
A distant scream was abruptly cut off.
Then came the response.
The sky darkened.
Not with clouds.
But with arrows.
Dozens. Hundreds. A black swarm descending in deadly arcs, each one loaded with killing intent—some wreathed in fire, others in poison, others warping the air around them.
She didn’t run.
Didn’t dodge.
She raised the shield.
The geometric symbol glowed again—not with light, but with order.
The arrows collided.
The sound was deafening.
Projectiles shattered, ricocheted, exploded into dispersed energy. The impact drove her feet into the ground, carving deep grooves as she held her ground, the shield absorbing, denying, nullifying.
When the last arrow fell harmlessly around her, silence returned.
Slow.
Heavy.
Then... slow applause echoed.
"Impressive..." said a male voice, drawn out, laced with amusement. "Very impressive."
He appeared before her like a mirage solidifying.
Egyptian garments adorned his body: dark linen, golden jewelry, ancient symbols etched into his skin. His eyes were feline, golden, examining every detail with predatory pleasure.
"The goddess Bastet would be delighted with you," he continued, flashing a sharp smile. "Playing with Athena’s body before that demon arrives... would be a delicious gift."
His aura changed.
His body warped.
Bones cracked, flesh stretched, and in the blink of an eye, where a man had stood was now a colossal black panther, muscles rippling beneath dark skin, eyes glowing with divine hunger.
She adjusted her stance.
The sword lowered by a centimeter.
"Step away," she said firmly.
The panther laughed.
"Too late—"
He never finished the sentence.
There was a dry sound.
Singular.
Like wet cloth being torn apart by absurd force.
The panther’s head simply... separated from its body.
There was no fight.
No reaction.
The colossal body fell to the side, still mid-transformation, blood gushing as life drained away before it could even comprehend what had happened.
Her eyes widened.
Her heart pounded violently.
Someone was behind her.
She felt it before she saw it.
She turned slowly.
A man stood there.
A long coat in tatters, stains of dried blood scattered across the fabric. Silver hair slightly disheveled. Intense blue eyes—cold... and curious.
He held the severed head of the Egyptian creature for a moment, as if evaluating something insignificant.
Then he let it drop.
The sound of impact echoed heavily.
She felt her body tremble.
Not from pain.
From pure fear.
The man smiled.
A small smile. Restrained. Predatory.
"I found you, Athena."
Vergil tilted his head slightly, like someone who had finally found something he had been searching for a very long time.
