My Wives are Beautiful Demons-Chapter 698: The next phase will begin soon.

Vergil finally stops before the door he was looking for.

There’s no sign. No flashy identification. Just a smooth surface of dark metal, with subtle inscriptions engraved on the edges—symbols too ancient to be decorative, too modern to be sacred. The door to a VIP room reserved for entities who, in theory, should know how to behave better than this.

He opens it without knocking.

The scene that unfolds before him is... educational.

Yu Tian is on the floor.

Literally.

On his knees, his forehead pressed against the thick carpet of the VIP wing, his arms outstretched in front of his body in such an exaggerated position of submission that it borders on the theatrical. The luxurious floor covering, made for bare feet and expensive drinks, now serves as an improvised altar for public humiliation.

On the left, completely oblivious to the drama, Buddha is reclining in an armchair that’s too wide even for him, sucking on a translucent red lollipop with his eyes closed, a serene, tranquil expression, as if enjoying an ordinary afternoon in some spiritual park. One leg is draped over the arm of the armchair, the other swinging slowly in the air.

On the right, seated on the central sofa with his legs crossed in an elegant and provocative manner, is Wukong.

Still in his female form.

Long hair, relaxed posture, a refined smile at the corner of his lips as he observes Yu Tian as one might assess an insect that insists on moving after death.

As soon as Vergil enters, the atmosphere changes.

Yu Tian notices first – his body stiffens immediately.

Wukong raises his gaze with renewed interest.

Buddha opens one eye. Only one.

Vergil closes the door behind him with absolute calm.

"Hey," he says, in a tone too casual for the scene. "So busy?" Everyone is looking at him now.

Vergil waves, like someone arriving late to an informal meeting, and walks to the sofa without any hurry. He sits next to Wukong, crossing one leg over the other, his gaze naturally falling to the pathetic figure on the floor.

He observes Yu Tian for a few seconds.

He tilts his head slightly.

"...Why is your disciple in this ridiculous position?" He asks, as if he really wants to understand the logic of the thing.

Wukong growls.

Literally growls.

The sound is low, laden with instruction and pure contempt, and she leans forward slightly, her eyes gleaming dangerously.

"Because he deserves it," she replies, her voice full of venom. "Everything bad. And worse."

Vergil raises an eyebrow.

"Damn."

Wukong points at Yu Tian with her finger.

"He was eliminated in the first round," she continues, each word spat out with relish. "In the first. Round."

Yu Tian shifts slightly on the floor, his teeth grinding, but he doesn’t dare lift his head.

"I warned you," Wukong continues. "I trained. I explained. I drew it on the floor if necessary. And yet—" She makes a sweeping gesture with her hand. "Eliminated."

Buddha, still sucking on his lollipop, murmurs without opening his eyes:

"Technically, he lasted longer than I expected."

Wukong shoots a furious look in his direction.

"That doesn’t help."

Vergil lets out a short laugh.

"Okay," he says. "But... does that explain the extreme kneeling?"

Wukong turns to him, his smile fading for a moment.

"Lucky for him," she says, "that the Enlightened Fatty over there decided to intervene."

Buddha opens his other eye now.

"I prefer ’Compassionate’," he remarks. "Chubby is... limited."

"If it weren’t for him," Wukong continues, ignoring him, "that idiot would have died right there. Unlike the others."

The silence that follows lasts half a second.

Vergil tilts his head, considering.

"...Ah."

He looks again at Yu Tian, ​​who is now visibly trembling.

Vergil observes the whole scene—the rigid body, the humiliating posture, the broken aura.

And laughs.

It’s not loud.

It’s not cruel.

It’s honest.

"That’s pathetic," he says simply.

Yu Tian growls.

The sound is hoarse, full of resentment, and he finally raises his head slightly, revealing a furious, humiliated, tired look.

"I sacrificed myself for you," he spits. "So you could learn about Angelo."

Vergil slowly turns his face towards him.

His expression is neutral. Almost bored.

"You died for nothing," Virgil replies. "It didn’t change anything."

Yu Tian’s eyes widen.

"Huh—"

"I’ll find out," Vergil continues, interrupting him with brutal tranquility. "Sooner or later. That thing’s techniques aren’t an unsolvable mystery. They’re just... annoying."

Wukong lets out a sound of satisfaction.

Buddha shakes his head.

"Harsh, but fair."

Yu Tian clenches his fists against the carpet.

"You don’t understand—"

"I understand perfectly," Vergil says, leaning forward slightly. "You wanted to be useful. You wanted to foresee his existence. You wanted to die dramatically."

He leans back again.

"Congratulations. You got a public scolding and an uncomfortable position on the floor."

Wukong crosses his arms, genuinely satisfied.

"If I had let him," she commented, "he would have been disintegrated. Slowly."

"Details," Buddha murmurs. "Excessive violence is not the way."

"You say that while sucking on a lollipop made of solidified karmic energy," Wukong retorts.

"It’s strawberry."

Vergil observes the exchange for a few seconds before turning her gaze back to Wukong.

"Do you know anything else?" he said. "About Angelo. Or about... anything strange."

Wukong sighs. 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

Her body relaxes slightly, the comfortable giving way to something more serious.

"No," she replies. "Nothing concrete."

She tilts her head, her eyes becoming more attentive.

"It’s just that everything is strange."

Vergil frowns slightly.

"Define strange."

"Irregular energy flows," she explains. "Entities appearing where they shouldn’t. People who should be dead... aren’t."

Vergil feels a slight tightness in his jaw.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "I’m noticing."

Buddha finally opens his eyes completely.

"The tournament is attracting things," he says, serious now. "Not just competitors."

Wukong agrees.

"It’s like throwing meat into a lake full of ancient monsters."

Virgil stands up.

He looks once more at Yu Tian, ​​still kneeling.

"Get up," he says.

Yu Tian hesitated.

Wukong growled again.

"I didn’t say—"

"Leave him alone," Vergil interrupted. "He’s learned enough for today."

Yu Tian slowly stood up, avoiding direct eye contact with either of them.

Vergil adjusted his coat.

"There are only a few minutes left until the second phase," he commented. "And I’d rather fight strange things than watch poorly executed penance."

Wukong grinned again, wildly.

"Good luck," she said. "You’ll need it."

Vergil looked at the door.

"...Always need it."

And with that, he left the VIP room, leaving behind a humiliated disciple, an irritated divine monkey, and a perfectly relaxed Buddha—sucking on his lollipop, as if the chaos were just another interesting landscape on the path to enlightenment.

Yama’s VIP room looked nothing like the others.

There was no ostentatious luxury, no crystal, no carefully calculated ambient music meant to mock divine egos. The space was vast, silent, built in layers of dark stone and ancient metal, like a forgotten courtroom turned box seat. Lanterns of bluish flame floated near the high ceiling, casting long shadows that never quite stood still.

There, silence was not comfort. It was judgment.

Dante was slumped in one of the chairs, his enhanced boots haphazardly placed on a low obsidian table, his hands crossed behind his head. His relaxed posture contrasted almost offensively with the austere environment. He chewed something—no one knew exactly what—and watched one of the magical panels that still showed fragments of the first stage arena dissolving.

"Well," he said, breaking the silence with irritating nonchalance. "The stage is over."

Yama stood near one of the walls, observing the void as if he could see through it. The feminine form she assumed was tall, slender, enveloped in black and red robes reminiscent of ceremonial cloaks, but too fitted to be merely symbolic. Her dark hair was simply tied back, and her golden eyes carried a cold authority that needed no assertion.

"And?" she asks, without turning her face.

Dante shrugs.

"And I’ve already started to adapt to the tournament," he continues. "The rhythm, the rules, the tricks. It’s not so different from a poorly organized hell." He smiles slightly. "It’s all right."

Yama finally turns around.

Her gaze isn’t irritated. Nor curious.

It’s cirr.

"’All right,’" she repeats slowly. "Do you think this is good... or bad?"

Dante tilts his head slightly.

"It depends on the point of view," he replied. "But, not generally? Good."

Yama crosses her arms.

"That man," she says, her voice growing colder. "That damned Demon King."

Dante’s smile fades slightly, but he doesn’t lose his light tone.

"Vergil," he says. "Yeah, I know."

"He’s alive," Yama continues. "And he didn’t show a single real power." Her eyes gleam with something close to restrained protection. "He toyed with Athena. Toyed."

Dante lets out a low whistle.

"You say that as if Athena were fragile," he comments. "She can take it."

"That’s not the point," Yama retorts. "The point is that he doesn’t need to use anything. No visible demonic energy. No amplification. No absurd techniques."

She takes a step forward.

"That’s not confidence," she says. "It’s mastery."

Dante uncrosses his legs and leans forward slightly.

"Maybe," he admits. "But still... it’s okay."

Yama closes her eyes.

"Explain."

Dante sighs, as if accepting that he’ll have to be serious for a few minutes.

"As long as Angelo continues to adapt," he says, "Vergil won’t be the biggest problem."

Yama doesn’t.

"Angelo is... strange," Dante continues. "He learns too fast. Every fight refines him. Every exchange of blows hones something."

He points to the magic panel.

"Fighting Shura was excellent for him."

Yama raised an eyebrow.

"Shiva’s son."

"Exactly," Dante confirms. "Brutal strength, divine technique, absurd stamina. A complete package."

He smiled, now with a more serious look.

"After that fight, Angelo isn’t the same anymore."

Yama tilts her head thoughtfully.

"Stronger," she says.

"Much stronger," Dante agrees. "And he’s still growing."

She took a few steps back, walking slowly across the room, her robes sliding almost silently.

"That doesn’t reassure me," Yama comments. "The next phase won’t allow for gradual growth."

Dante observes.

"The Labyrinth of Daedalus," she says, as if the name had a bitter taste. "There, slow adaptation is a death sentence."

Dante groaned a short laugh.

"Ah, the Labyrinth."

Yama stops and turns sharply to him.

"That damned labyrinth," she corrects. "Rebuilt from scratch."

Dante cheers like a grandson.

"Okay, okay. Rebuilt."

"By Scathach," Yama finishes, her voice heavy with restrained contempt. "That maniac."

Dante grins broadly.

"I prefer ’enthusiast of deadly tests’."

Yama shoots a sharp look.

"She doesn’t build challenges," Yama says. "She builds punishments."

Dante nods slowly.

"Yeah," he admits. "She takes it personally."

Yama continues:

"Her Labyrinth doesn’t respect fixed logic. The paths change. Rules are rewritten. The space itself responds to the instinct to fight."

She closes the zipper.

"It’s a living battlefield."

Dante leans back in his chair.

"Then it’ll be fun," he says.

Yama waits for him for a few long seconds.

"You really believe that," she states.

Dante smiles.

"Of course I believe it."

He looked at the panel one last time.

"If they survive the Labyrinth," he continues, "they won’t just come out alive."

Yama crosses her arms again.

"They’ll come out different," she concludes.

Dante points at her. "Exactly."