My Wives are Beautiful Demons-Chapter 682: Call. Your. Goddess.

The air tightened in the next instant.

There was no warning, no perceptible change in Vergil's posture. He didn't bend his shoulders, didn't adjust his feet, didn't assume any position that would betray an imminent attack. Yet, something on the field shifted abruptly, as if reality itself had been pulled closer to him for an infinitesimally short moment.

Then the slap came.

It wasn't a fighting strike. There was no elaborate technique, no intent to kill. It was a simple, almost nonchalant movement, a short swing of the arm accompanied by a dry snap in the air—and yet, the instant she perceived the danger, her instinct screamed louder than any conscious thought.

The shield rose.

The geometric symbol shone with full force, ancient lines rearranging themselves into patterns of maximum containment. Layers of authority, faith, and concept overlapped in fractions of a second, forming a defense that had already withstood gods, monsters, and weapons made to erase worlds.

The impact happened nonetheless.

The sound wasn't explosive.

It was profound.

Like the clash of continental plates.

The wave of force pierced the shield, ignoring parts of the defensive layers as if they were poorly formulated suggestions. The symbol shone intensely, luminous cracks spread across its surface, and her arm was thrown back with absurd violence. Her entire body was ripped from the ground, hurled backward like a leaf in the midst of a hurricane.

She flew dozens of meters in a straight line, tearing through the air, slamming against the ground once, twice, three times, each impact tearing away earth, rock, and enchanted fragments. Her body rolled until it stopped near a destroyed rock formation, the purple gas now dangerously close to her back.

She fell to her knees.

The arm that held the shield trembled uncontrollably. The impact had pierced her defense and struck something deeper, something that hurt not only her body but her very essence. Her chest rose and fell unevenly as she tried to process what had just happened.

She had blocked it.

And yet… she had been crushed.

Vergil remained where he was.

He didn't advance.

He didn't pursue.

He just laughed.

Not a loud laugh, but a low, genuinely amused laugh, like someone who had just confirmed an old suspicion. He observed the distance between them, the trail of destruction left by her body, and nodded slightly, satisfied with the result.

"Hm…" he murmured, running a hand through his silver hair. "Still reacts quickly."

He then raised his voice, without any hurry, knowing she would hear him perfectly despite the distance.

"Call the goddess already," he said, in an almost bored, almost impatient tone. "I don't feel like fighting a child."

His smile widened slightly, his blue eyes gleaming with something between curiosity and controlled disdain, as he stood there, completely relaxed, as if that single slap had been merely a casual test—and as if the real confrontation hadn't even begun.

She slowly raised her gaze, still kneeling, feeling the weight of that impact reverberate through her body like a persistent echo. The arm holding the shield still trembled, not from weakness, but from the absurd effort it had taken to avoid simply being knocked off the field. Even so, her eyes remained steady, analytical, too proud to bow before something that clearly surpassed her.

"What… do you think you're doing?" her voice came out controlled, but there was tension in it, like a blade pressed against something about to give way. She stood slowly, resting the shield on the ground for a moment before resuming her posture.

"My goddess has nothing to discuss with you. Whatever you think you are, this is nothing but empty provocation." Vergil tilted his head slightly, as if listening to something curious, and then… he laughed.

This time, he couldn't contain himself.

It was an open, relaxed, almost joyful laugh, as if that answer had been exactly what he expected to hear. He took a step forward, then another, walking towards her with the ease of someone crossing an empty corridor, his hands in the pockets of his torn coat, his posture too loose for someone who had just crushed divine champions.

"Ah…" he said, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb, still smiling. "I think you understand very well what I'm doing."

He stopped a few meters away.

The air between them grew heavy.

"So let me be clearer," he continued, his voice now low, firm, without losing its casual tone. "I'm going to beat you. I'm going to heal you. And I'm going to beat you again. As many times as necessary… until that bitch shows up here."

The words fell like a decree.

In the next instant, Vergil's aura expanded.

It didn't explode.

It grew.

Bending.

The space around him distorted as if being compressed by something invisible, particles of dust and fragments of mana beginning to float slowly. The ground beneath his feet creaked, fine cracks spreading in concentric circles.

It tripled.

The spiritual pressure became almost physical. The air became too dense to breathe comfortably. The surrounding purple gas hesitated, as if something were interfering with its own function.

It quadrupled.

The demonic wings opened a little wider, bluish veins pulsing with increasing intensity. The shadow cast by Vergil stretched unnaturally, writhing across the ground like something alive.

It quintupled. 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

The entire field seemed to recognize a threat of a completely different scale. The ambient mana was pushed away from him, creating a zone of absolute energetic silence. Even from a distance, she felt her knees threaten to buckle, her body reacting before her mind could rationalize.

Vergil smiled.

Not a cruel smile.

A righteous smile.

"I will be your worst nightmare," he said calmly, as if making a simple promise. "And when you finally break… she will listen."

He took another step forward.

And the world seemed to recede to make room.

Vergil advanced.

In her eyes, he simply… vanished.

There was no visible displacement, no clear distortion of space, no trace of energy to follow. In the blink of an eye, the pressure that had previously come from the front was now everywhere at once. Instinct spoke louder than any calculation: she raised the shield the instant something collided with it.

The impact was brutal.

The Aegis absorbed the blow, ancient runes igniting like collapsing constellations, but still the force surged through the shield like an overwhelming tide. Her arm sank a few inches back, her feet sliding across the ground as the earth cracked under the friction. Vergil appeared before her in the same movement, his fist still pressed against the center of the shield.

He laughed.

There was no anger. No hurry.

It was amusement.

And then he began.

The first blow came like a hammer. The second, like a battering ram. The third, like a structural collapse. Each punch struck the Aegis with increasing force, not just physical, but conceptual, as if it were testing the limits of the very idea of ​​defense. The shield's runes glowed ever brighter, reacting, adapting, trying to keep up with something that clearly didn't follow normal rules.

She began to be dragged.

Her feet dug deep furrows in the ground as Vergil advanced step by step, pushing her back with a relentless sequence of blows. Each impact made her bones vibrate, her muscles scream, her breathing become ragged. The world was reduced to the muffled metallic sound of the blows, to the crushing weight that left no room for counterattack, nor for strategic thought.

Despair began to seep in.

Not ordinary fear—but the cold realization that she was being forced, pushed to a limit that perhaps didn't exist to cross. The purple gas approached from the sides, the uneven terrain robbed her of support, and Vergil didn't slow down. On the contrary: the blows became stronger, faster, closer, as if he were fine-tuning the rhythm of a cruel song.

With a stifled scream, she activated the Aegis.

The geometric symbol at the center of the shield spun, rearranged itself, and released a wave of absolute force, a conceptual rejection that didn't push—it negated. The space in front of her was compressed and then violently expelled, creating a pulse that finally broke the sequence.

Vergil was thrown back.

Not very far—but far enough.

She fell to her knees, gasping, using the shield for support as the pressure lessened for a precious second. Her whole body ached, her arms almost numb, her mind racing to regain control. She began to raise the shield again, preparing to—

Then she felt it.

Something cold.

Something piercing through.

A sudden, impossible presence behind her.

The pain came next.

Vergil had pierced her chest with his arm.

From back to front.

His hand emerged from the center of her torso, blood trickling down his fingers, the impact so precise that for an instant her body didn't even understand what had happened. The world lost its color. The air disappeared from her lungs. Her legs gave way.

He leaned in, bringing his mouth close to her ear while holding her suspended by the arm embedded in his body.

His voice was a whisper.

Intimate.

Terrifying.

"Call. Your. Goddess." He withdrew his arm in a swift movement.

She fell forward, choking, blood gushing from the open wound in her chest. Before she could completely collapse, Vergil reached out to her. The blood on the ground, in the air, in her own body responded.

Veins pulsed.

The flow reversed.

Flesh reconnected, bones aligned, organs forcibly rebuilt themselves as the blood manipulation stitched the wound from the inside out. The pain was replaced by a grotesque sensation of violation, as if her own body had been forced to obey an external will.

She fell on her back, alive.

Completely.

Panting.

Vergil stood there, watching, his arms relaxed at his sides.

"Flame," he repeated, now in a normal tone.

She spat out residual blood and looked up, her eyes burning with hatred and humiliation.

"No," she replied, hoarsely, but firmly.

Vergil's smile returned.

He took a step.

And hit her again.

With enough force to erase the horizon.