My Wives are Beautiful Demons-Chapter 697: Nine Tails

Vergil walks unhurriedly through the coliseum’s inner corridors.

There’s no urgency in his steps, nor that constant tension that usually accompanies him before battles. For the first time since the tournament began, he simply... walks. His hands in his coat pockets, his gaze wandering, his mind too occupied to focus on anything specific.

There were still about twenty-five minutes left until the second phase.

Too much time to stand still. Too little time to truly rest.

The corridors stretch like veins in a colossal organism. Wide doors marked with golden seals indicate VIP rooms belonging to pantheons, ancient families, entities that prefer to watch the chaos from afar. Some are closed. Others are ajar, revealing fragments of exaggerated luxury: floating sofas, arcane energy sources, music too low to be truly heard.

Vergil passes by them all without interest.

He’s not looking for anyone.

Perhaps he’s just avoiding thinking.

The sound of his own footsteps echoes softly on the light stone floor, interrupted here and there by distant laughter, muffled conversations, the clinking of glasses. Everything seems... too normal, considering what that place really is.

A waiting area before the violence.

Vergil turns down a narrower corridor, flanked by large windows of enchanted glass. On the other side, an inner garden stretches out like a carefully maintained illusion. Trees with light-colored trunks, white stone paths, and an explosion of colors emanating from perfectly arranged flowerbeds.

Flowers.

Many of them.

Vergil slows down without realizing it.

There’s something strangely comforting there. An almost offensive contrast to what he knows will happen in less than half an hour.

He takes a few more steps—

And then something small and quick collides with him.

It’s not strong.

It’s not violent.

It’s abrupt enough to make him stop, and light enough that he feels more surprise than impact.

Vergil looks down the instant he feels something lightly tap against his legs.

A dry thud.

A stifled "ouch."

Before he can react, a small voice steps forward, hurried and sincere.

"Sorry!"

Vergil blinks.

Lowering his gaze, he sees a little girl on the floor, sitting somewhat awkwardly, her hands resting on the floor as she tries to understand what just happened.

She doesn’t cry.

She doesn’t scream.

She just seems... confused.

The girl is around six years old, maybe less. Her hair is dark, haphazardly tied back with a ribbon that has clearly seen better days. She wears a dress that is too simple for that place, but clean and well-cared for. Her large eyes blink a few times as she gets up on her own, without help, lightly clapping her hands together to remove the nonexistent dust.

"Sorry," she repeats, now standing. Her voice is too serious for someone so small. "I wasn’t looking ahead."

Vergil remains motionless for a full second.

Then he crouches down, getting to her level with a fluid and careful movement, as if afraid of startling her.

"Did you get hurt?" he asks.

The girl shakes her head quickly.

"No," she replies. "I just bumped my head a little." She puts her hand to her forehead, wipes carefully, then makes a slight grimace. "But it’s gone now."

Vergil lets out a low, almost involuntary laugh.

"You’re resilient," he comments.

She shrugs, proudly.

"My mother says that."

Vergil observes her more closely now. There’s no fear in her eyes. No distrust. Just that open and frank curiosity that children still have before they learn to distrust the world.

"So," he says softly. "What made you run off like that?"

The girl points without hesitation.

A small finger reaches toward the window behind Vergil.

"That."

Vergil follows the gesture and looks out.

The garden.

The flowers seem even more alive from that angle. Shades of blue, red, gold, and violet blend in an almost impossible way. Some plants have translucent petals, others seem to emit their own soft, constant light.

"I’ve never seen flowers like this," the girl explains, approaching the window. "They seem... happy."

Vergil raises an eyebrow.

"Happy?"

"Yes," she insists. "Look." She presses her face against the glass, leaving a small mark that disappears soon after. "They’re not afraid."

Vergil doesn’t answer immediately.

He looks at the flowers again.

And, for a moment, tries to see them as she sees them.

No context.

No story. Unbeknownst to him, that place harbors gods, demons, and monsters waiting to destroy each other.

Only flowers.

"...They are beautiful," he finally admits.

The girl smiles.

An open, satisfied smile, as if that agreement were a small personal victory.

Vergil reaches out and rests his hand gently on her head, ruffling her dark hair with unexpected care.

"It’s alright," he says. "Don’t worry."

She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t shrink back.

She simply accepts the gesture as something natural.

"You’re big," she observes suddenly, looking at him with renewed attention.

Vergil lets out a soft laugh.

"I’ve been told that before."

"Do you fight?" she asks bluntly.

Vergil hesitates.

"Sometimes."

She seems to think about it for a few seconds.

"My mother fights too," the girl says. "But she said I couldn’t watch today."

Vergil feels a slight, unexpected tightening in his chest.

"She did well," he replies. "Today isn’t a good day to watch fights."

The girl tilts her head.

"Are you going to fight?"

Vergil looks at the garden once more.

"I am," he replies honestly.

She watches him for a few more seconds, then nods, as if she’s made an important decision.

"So... good luck," she says. "Don’t hurt anyone who doesn’t deserve it."

Vergil is silent.

Then, very slowly, he smiles genuinely.

"I’ll try."

The girl seems pleased with the answer. She takes a small step back, then another.

"I have to go back," she says. "My mother will be angry if I disappear."

"It’s better to go," Vergil agrees.

Before running off, she turns around once more.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

She points to the garden again.

"When it’s all over," she says. "I want the flowers to still be there."

Vergil watches as she disappears down the hallway, her small footsteps echoing quickly until they vanish completely.

He remains there for a few seconds.

Alone again.

His gaze returns to the flowers.

"...Me too," he murmurs.

Vergil resumes walking.

The footsteps resume their previous calm rhythm, echoing through the wide corridor as he leaves behind the wing with the windows and the inner garden. The image of the flowers—and of the girl—persists in remaining in his mind, like a detail too out of place to ignore.

He turns the corner of one of the corridors—

And almost collides with someone.

They both stop at the same time, just inches apart.

"Ah—!"

The woman ahead takes a quick step back, clearly startled. The movement is graceful by instinct, not by calculation. Long, elegant robes move with her, and something behind... stirs.

Vergil lowers his gaze reflexively.

Tails.

Nine of them.

Large, soft, a golden-reddish hue that subtly reflects the corridor light. They move in gentle waves, betraying the fright their owner has just experienced.

"Excuse me," Vergil says immediately, raising his hands in a neutral gesture. "I was distracted."

The woman stares at him for a second longer than necessary, her almond-shaped eyes analyzing him with quick, sharp attention. There’s surprise there, but also curiosity—and something older, instinctive.

"I wasn’t looking," she replies, adjusting her posture. Her voice is calm, melodious, but carries a poorly disguised urgency. "Forgive me."

Vergil gives a short nod and starts to walk past her when—

"Wait."

He stops and turns slightly.

The woman seems to hesitate for a moment, then speaks:

"Did you see a little girl walk by here?" she asks. "Small, dark hair, running faster than she should?"

Vergil blinks.

The image immediately flashes through his mind.

The way she spoke too seriously.

Her confident manner.

Her smile as she looked at the flowers. He looks again at the woman in front of him.

Now that he’s paying attention... the features make sense. The eyes, the shape of her face, even the energy emanating from her. Different in maturity, obviously—but undeniably connected.

"I saw," he replies, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder. "She was heading towards the inner garden. She stopped to look at the flowers."

The relief that crosses the woman’s face is immediate.

"Thank heavens," she murmurs, dramatically placing a hand on her chest. "She does this all the time. One second she’s by my side, the next... poof." She sighs. "I’m going to have a heart attack."

Vergil lets out a short, genuine laugh.

"A goddess doesn’t die of a heart attack," he says, almost jokingly. "Right?"

The woman stares at him for a moment.

Then she laughs.

A clear, warm laugh that even makes her tails sway slightly behind her.

"Yes," she agrees. "You’re right." She tilts her head, observing him more closely now. "Your senses are good. Not everyone notices these things."

Vergil shrugs.

"It comes with the work."

She smiles slightly.

"I imagine."

She starts to turn around, resuming her path in the indicated direction, but stops for a moment and looks over her shoulder.

"Thank you," she says. "Really."

"No problem."

She takes two more steps, then seems to remember something and looks back at him.

"Ah," she adds. "If you ever want to visit Japan..."

Vergil raises a slight eyebrow.

"...I’d love to chat a bit." She gives a small bow, elegant and relaxed at the same time. "My name is Inari."

Vergil inclines his head in response, a simple but respectful gesture.

"Vergil."

"Inari," she repeats to herself, as if remembering the name. "It was an unexpected pleasure."

And then she walks away, her nine tails undulating gently as she disappears down the corridor, hurrying—but not desperately—after her daughter.

Vergil watches for a few seconds.

Then he lets out a low, almost imperceptible sigh. "...Definitely a strange place," he murmurs to himself.

The invisible clock keeps ticking.