My Wives are Beautiful Demons

Chapter 840: I am much stronger than Hades.

Vergil was already about to leave the room when Pandora, who until then had remained strangely quiet near the door, raised her hand with less enthusiasm than she usually showed. The serpent coiled around her neck also seemed to become more attentive, lifting its head and following Vergil with small, shining eyes. Seris had gone out to gather the forbidden texts, Morgana was discussing something with Alice about layers of protection, and the three witches caught trying to listen behind the door were still pretending dignity while holding a tray of tea no one had truly asked for."Demon King," Pandora called.

Vergil stopped and looked at her.

Pandora moved her fingers, as if trying to find a less strange way to phrase the request. Coming from her, that was already unusual enough to draw attention. "Can we talk alone?"

Alice turned her face immediately.

Her look was so quick and so cold that even Pandora’s serpent seemed to shrink a little. Morgana noticed and let out a tired sigh, while one of the gossiping witches, still at the door, widened her eyes as if she had just found the beginning of a new scandal. Vergil ignored them all and looked at Seris, who had stopped in the corridor when she heard the question.

Seris shrugged.

"Do not look at me. I do not know what that girl wants."

Pandora made a face. "Queen, that sounded offensive."

"It was meant to sound realistic."

Vergil turned his gaze back to Pandora. There was something different in her posture. She was still the same white-haired woman, with an easy smile and a chaotic presence, but the energy around her was more restrained. It did not feel like a joke. It did not feel like flirting. It also did not feel like an attempt to cause trouble to provoke Alice, which was already a surprise by itself.

"Fine," he said.

Alice pressed her lips together.

"Vergil," she called, in a low tone.

He looked at Alice. "It will be quick."

Pandora raised a finger. "Probably."

Alice narrowed her eyes. "That did not help."

Before the discussion could continue, Pandora snapped her fingers, and the space around her and Vergil folded with a strange softness, different from Seris’s formal portals or Vergil’s clean dimensional cuts. There was no large magic circle, nor dramatic runes. It was as if an invisible lid closed over the two of them and opened again somewhere else. When Vergil realized it, he was no longer in the palace’s circular room.

He was in a bedroom.

And that was more surprising than the teleportation.

Pandora’s room was feminine in an almost exaggerated way, but not messy. Light curtains fell around a wide bed covered in soft sheets, too many pillows, and a fine-textured blanket that looked expensive. There were small perfume bottles on a vanity, ribbons, decorated boxes, scented candles, dried flowers held inside frames, and several small serpent statues positioned on shelves. The walls had soft tones, between lavender, cream, and antique pink, and a warm light floated on the ceiling inside a translucent magical globe. It was far more delicate than Vergil would have expected from someone who carried the name Pandora and seemed to laugh at calamities as a pastime.

He looked around for a few seconds.

Pandora noticed.

"What?"

"Your room is..."

"Pretty?"

"Feminine."

Pandora placed a hand on her chest as if she had received profound praise. "Thank you. I make an effort."

"That was not exactly a compliment."

"I chose to accept it as one."

Vergil did not argue. Her serpent slid a little along her neck, settling more comfortably on her shoulder while Pandora walked to the bed and sat on the edge. She did not gesture for him to sit. Perhaps because she knew Vergil would remain standing anyway. For several seconds, she looked at her own hands, and her usual smile disappeared.

"Do not trust anything from Olympus," she said.

Vergil remained motionless.

Pandora raised her eyes to him. This time, there was no mockery in them. "Nothing. Not a word, not a gift, not an oath, not an apology, not a promise made by ancient gods wearing noble suffering on their faces. Olympus rots everything it touches and then calls the rot destiny."

Vergil did not answer immediately. He had already expected distrust, perhaps even hatred, but there was a specific weight in her voice that made the sentence less theatrical. Pandora was not merely repeating an opinion. She spoke like someone who carried it at the center of her own existence.

"You hate all of them," he said.

"I do." She answered without hesitation. "I hate Zeus. I hate Hera. I hate Ares. I hate Athena when she dresses manipulation as wisdom. I hate Demeter when she calls possession love. I hate Apollo when he smiles as if beauty compensates for cruelty. I hate all those disgusting beings who err, abuse, punish, destroy, and then hide behind statues, temples, and dead poets."

The serpent around her neck grew restless, moving its head slowly.

Pandora tightened her fingers over the fabric of the bed. "To me, extermination is the only solution for all of them."

Vergil held her gaze. "I understand."

"No, you do not understand."

"I understand more than you imagine. But not all—"

"I do not care about morality," Pandora cut him off, her voice rising a little before she forced herself to control it. "Do not come to me talking about exceptions, about better people, about Hades being more honest than Zeus or Nyx being too primordial to go into the same pile. I am Pandora. I am the personification of Pandora’s Box. I know better than anyone what Olympus is. Not from history, not from gossip, not from inherited resentment. I exist because of their filth."

Vergil was silent.

The sentence grew heavy inside the delicate room. The soft curtains, the perfumes, the pillows, and the dried flowers seemed displaced before that woman speaking of destruction with an almost calm sincerity. Perhaps that was exactly why the room was like that. Perhaps Pandora needed a place excessively beautiful because her origin was far too ugly.

"They create problems and hand them to others to bleed over," she continued. "They turn women into punishment, children into weapons, lovers into trophies, enemies into monsters, and victims into convenient legends. Olympus does not rule. Olympus justifies itself. Always."

Vergil breathed slowly. "I understand."

Pandora opened her mouth, but he continued before she could interrupt him again.

"But you cannot plant your beliefs onto me and expect me to obey only because your pain is true. I am not stupid enough to listen blindly to someone who clearly wants my help, but does not want to reveal everything. Nyx did not tell me everything. Persephone did not either. Hades, if I speak to him, will probably try to measure every word as if hiding half the truth were strategy. I know that."

Pandora went quiet.

Vergil took a step closer to the bed. "I do not trust Olympus. I do not trust desperate gods. I do not trust gifts that are too large. And I do not trust servitude offered by a primordial goddess without a grave reason behind it. But I also will not ignore a problem that may reach my world, my family, and every system of death merely because the people involved are disgusting."

Pandora looked down.

For several seconds, she did not answer. Her energy, normally restless, seemed to wilt a little. When she spoke again, her voice came out lower.

"I am worried."

Vergil watched her with more attention.

"About what?"

She let out a short laugh, without humor. "About you, idiot."

Vergil raised an eyebrow.

Pandora took a deep breath and ran her fingers through her white hair, pushing a few strands back. "Hades is too proud. People talk about Zeus as the great arrogant one because he shouts louder and shoves his ego into everything, but Hades is different. Of the Three Great Gods of Olympus, he is the proudest. Not in the vulgar sense. He does not need to show off. His pride is in control. In dominion. In the idea that his Underworld is his, that his order remains, that nothing inside Tartarus moves without his permission."

She raised her eyes to Vergil.

"Hades does not ask for help."

The sentence came out simple.

And precisely because of that, it sounded grave.

Pandora continued. "He can negotiate. He can make agreements. He can accept alliances if they seem advantageous or inevitable. But ask for help? Offer the Helm? Allow Persephone to go after you? Let Nyx appear and bow? That is not normal. It means their level of desperation is gigantic."

Vergil remained silent for a few moments.

Pandora seemed smaller sitting on that bed, not weak, but less noisy than she normally was. The serpent had rested its head against her shoulder, as if it also understood that this was not a moment for jokes.

"Seris said something similar," he said.

"Seris is clever."

"So are you."

Pandora blinked, clearly not expecting that.

Vergil approached and extended his hand. Pandora did not move away when he touched her white hair. His fingers passed slowly through the strands, in a calm, almost careful gesture. Her expression changed a little, losing the most visible tension. There was still concern, there was still hatred toward Olympus, but the touch seemed to disarm something in her.

"It is all right," Vergil said.

Pandora frowned. "That phrase is terrible. Usually it is said right before everything goes wrong."

"Then forget the phrase."

"Better."

Vergil continued stroking her hair for a few seconds. "I am glad you are worried about me."

Pandora looked away. "I am not."

"You are."

"I am worried about dimensional balance."

"Pandora."

She grimaced. "Fine. Maybe a little about you."

"A little."

"Very little."

"Of course."

He leaned in and kissed her forehead.

Pandora froze.

Not from fear. Not from rejection. Simply because the gesture was too calm, too gentle, and too unexpected for someone who, seconds before, had been giving a speech about the extermination of Olympus. The serpent around her neck raised its head, watching Vergil with a kind of silent approval that Pandora would have denied if anyone commented on it.

Vergil pulled away only enough to look at her.

"You may not know this," he said, his voice lower.

Pandora narrowed her eyes. "Know what?"

Vergil leaned a little closer, bringing his mouth near her ear. His voice came out as a cold whisper, without theatrical arrogance, but with such clean certainty that it seemed more dangerous than any shout.

"I am much stronger than Hades."

Pandora went still.

For an entire second, she said nothing.

Then she released the air slowly, as if that sentence had struck exactly the part of her that wanted to believe it and the part that was afraid of believing too much. She turned her face slightly, looking at him sideways, and a small smile began to appear, though it still carried concern.

"You know that is the kind of sentence that makes old gods try to prove otherwise, right?"

Vergil pulled away and answered calmly. "They can try."

Pandora looked at him for a few seconds.

Then she laughed softly, not with the chaotic joy from before, but with something more intimate, more relieved. "You are terrible."

"I know."

"And arrogant."

"That too."

"And probably going to give me a headache."

"Almost certain."

Pandora sighed, but the smile remained. "Then do not die in Tartarus."

Vergil looked at her. "I do not intend to."

"That answer is bad."

"It is the true answer."

Pandora grabbed one of the pillows from the bed and threw it at him. Vergil caught it effortlessly before it hit his chest. The scene broke some of the weight of the conversation, and Pandora seemed satisfied by that. She stood from the bed, adjusted the serpent around her neck, and tried to recover her carefree air, although Vergil had already seen the real concern beneath it.

"Let us go back before Alice decides to invade my room," she said.

Vergil looked toward the door. "She is considering it."

Pandora became serious. "Are you joking?"

"No."

Her serpent turned its head toward the door.

Pandora snapped her fingers immediately.

The room folded around them, and the two disappeared.