My Wives are Beautiful Demons-Chapter 712: Pathetic

Alice remained motionless for a fraction of a second after murmuring that, but it wasn’t hesitation—it was calculation. Her mind wasn’t panicking, despite the verbal conclusion; on the contrary, it was organizing the information with a speed that surpassed any ordinary human process. The problem wasn’t a lack of ability. It was scale. Shiva’s pattern wasn’t just efficient... it was too complete. Each of his movements didn’t exist in isolation; it already contained the answer to the next reaction, creating a self-reinforcing, closed cycle.

And that... made any attempt at direct confrontation predictable.

Still, Alice didn’t back down.

She took a deep breath, stabilizing the flow of energy within her body as she adjusted her posture, her feet repositioning themselves almost imperceptibly, altering angles, redistributing weight, aligning her body’s axis based on what she had learned so far. Her gaze fixed on Shiva, not with defiance, but with absolute attention, as if she were trying to see not just the movement... but the intention before it existed.

Shiva noticed. And he smiled.

There was no mockery in that smile this time. It was recognition. Genuine interest.

"Now you understand," he said, his voice low, almost satisfied. "But understanding... doesn’t mean grasping."

He advanced.

There was no explosion.

There was no sudden acceleration.

But still, he was already in front of her.

The first blow came from the side.

Alice didn’t block.

She took a half-step back, turning her body to let the attack pass by centimeters, and immediately responded with a direct counterattack, trying to interrupt the flow before it fully established itself.

Mistake.

Shiva’s arm was already returning.

The second blow came from below.

She dodged.

The third... didn’t come.

And that was the problem.

Alice realized too late that the emptiness was also part of the pattern. The broken rhythm wasn’t a flaw—it was a deliberate variation. As she tried to move forward to take advantage of the nonexistent opening, Shiva was already moving again.

The impact came directly.

Her body was struck in the abdomen, the force compressing the surrounding air and lifting her off the ground again, but this time she wasn’t thrown uncontrollably. Before hitting the wall, her body had already adjusted, creating a point of support in the air with invisible magic, redirecting the momentum and landing more steadily, sliding only a few meters before stopping.

She immediately lifted her face.

Her eyes were different.

Faster.

Deeper.

"So... the void is also part of the sequence..." she murmured.

Shiva tilted his head slightly.

She was seeing.

Not just reacting.

She was beginning to see the system.

And that... made him even more interested.

"Continue," he said, opening his arms slightly, inviting her. "Show me how far you can go."

Alice didn’t answer.

She moved forward.

But this time... she didn’t try to win.

She tried to keep up.

The first step was different.

She didn’t seek to attack directly, nor to break the rhythm aggressively. Instead, she inserted herself into it. Her initial movement was synchronized with Shiva’s, not as a perfect imitation, but as a functional approach, trying to enter the flow instead of fighting it head-on.

The next impact was inevitable.

Fist against fist.

The collision reverberated through the corridor, creating a shockwave that ripped fragments from the walls, but this time Alice wasn’t immediately pushed back. Her body absorbed some of the force, redistributing it through her legs and the ground, holding firm for a moment longer than before.

Shiva noticed.

And then accelerated.

The dance began again.

Now faster.

More complex.

His movements became even more varied, alternating rhythm, intensity, and direction with a fluidity that made it impossible to fully predict his next move. He was no longer just fighting—he was teaching... or testing.

And Alice... was learning.

The second impact made her recoil.

The third made her lose her balance.

The fourth threw her to the ground.

But on the fifth...

She responded.

Her body spun at the exact moment, dodging a downward blow by millimeters, and her elbow automatically rose, intercepting the next movement before it was completed. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t clean. But it was... correct.

Shiva laughed.

"That’s it!"

The pressure increased.

The two disappeared again.

Now it wasn’t just an exchange of blows anymore. It was a continuous collision. Their bodies appeared and disappeared at different points in the labyrinth, each impact opening new fissures, destroying already weakened structures, scattering fragments through the air as the battle expanded uncontrollably.

Alice began to fail.

And learn.

Fail.

And adjust.

Each blow received wasn’t just damage—it was information. Her body was being recalibrated with each impact, her movements refined in real time, her responses becoming more efficient, less wasted.

She began to anticipate.

Not completely.

But enough.

One blow passed her.

Another was blocked.

A third... she avoided it before it even fully happened.

And then—

She got into the rhythm.

For an instant.

Short.

But real.

Her movements aligned with Shiva’s, not as a perfect copy, but as a compatible variation. She didn’t interrupt the dance.

She participated in it.

The next impact was different.

Balanced.

Neither of them immediately retreated.

The air around them exploded, the ground gave way beneath their feet, and for a brief moment... there was balance.

Shiva stopped.

Not completely.

But enough to observe.

His eyes narrowed, not in disapproval... but in something far rarer.

Admiration.

"You’re beginning to grasp the concept," he said, his voice lower now, more serious. "It’s not technique. It’s not strength."

He took a step forward.

"It’s destruction as flow."

Alice was breathing heavier now.

Her body already showed clear signs of wear and tear. Small tremors, micro-delays, flaws that hadn’t yet been completely corrected.

But her eyes...

Were becoming increasingly steady.

"So..." she said, adjusting her posture, her body assuming a form vaguely reminiscent of Shiva’s, but with subtle differences, its own adaptations. "I just need to... keep going."

Shiva smiled.

But this time... the smile was smaller.

More restrained.

And far more dangerous.

"Then come."

And the two advanced again.

But now... it was no longer a god crushing an apprentice.

It was the beginning of something far more dangerous.

Because Alice was no longer just surviving.

She was getting closer.

...

Vergil remained motionless for a few seconds after another attack by Angelo, observing his opponent with an expression that no longer carried any trace of real interest. What might have once been a curiosity—a creature that rebuilt itself, that defied the simple logic of destruction—now became just another repetitive, almost tedious exercise. The metallic and organic sound of Angelo’s limbs rearranging echoed through the labyrinth’s corridor, but no longer provoked even a raised eyebrow from Vergil. He merely sighed slowly, like someone who had expected more from a theatrical performance that, in the end, proved too predictable.

Angelo advanced again, without hesitation, without emotion, merely obeying a command that seemed to be engraved in his very essence. His body fragmented into multiple segments, reorganizing itself in the air into a complex offensive formation, blades emerging from his arms while his legs adapted to maximize speed. It was, in fact, impressive from a technical standpoint. An organism designed for continuous combat, constant adaptation, real-time evolution. However, for Vergil, that had already lost all value.

Without even changing his stance, he lifted Yamato with a minimal, almost disinterested movement, and the space around him seemed to fold. Before Angelo could even complete his charge, his body was divided into dozens of perfect fragments, cuts so precise they seemed not to exist until the moment the enemy simply separated. The parts fell to the ground with a heavy sound, scattering across the corridor in an irregular pattern.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, as before, the parts began to move.

Vergil did not react immediately. He simply watched as Angelo’s fragments dragged themselves back to each other, connecting, merging, reconstructing that grotesque yet functional form. It was, undoubtedly, an efficient mechanism. But efficiency without purpose... it was nothing but waste.

"Hm."

That was all he said.

Angelo rose again, now with slight variations in his structure. His limbs were denser, his joints more compact, as if trying to compensate for the ease with which he had been destroyed. He learned. He adapted. But still, he remained trapped in a predictable pattern. He didn’t think. He didn’t choose. He just reacted.

And that was the problem.

Vergil stepped forward.

The simple act made the air around him heavier, as if the entire environment recognized the presence of something that shouldn’t be challenged in that way. His eyes, cold and calculating, analyzed Angelo not as an enemy, but as an object. A mechanism. Something to be understood... or discarded.

"You rebuild yourself," he said, his voice calm, almost bored. "You adapt your structure, alter your composition... but you don’t evolve."

Angelo didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer. Instead, he advanced again, this time faster, more aggressive, his body vibrating with accumulated energy. He launched a sequence of simultaneous attacks, multiple arms emerging from his form, each armed with blades that cut through the air in complex trajectories, trying to surround Vergil from all sides.

Vergil didn’t move.

For a brief moment, it seemed he would simply accept the attack.

Then, the world shattered.

There was no visible movement. No clear gesture. Just an instant in which everything around seemed to fragment—like a broken reflection—and, the next moment, Angelo was in pieces again. This time, however, the cuts were different. Deeper. More... definitive.

Vergil appeared a few steps behind, his sword already resting in its original position, as if it had never been used.

Angelo’s fragments fell again, but this time they took longer to move. The reconstruction process seemed slower, more hesitant, as if something had been damaged beyond the simple physical form.

Vergil closed his eyes for a moment.

—Tedious.

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t show irritation. It was something worse than that.

It was indifference.

When Angelo finally began to recompose himself again, his movement was more erratic. Small flaws appeared in his structure, as if each reconstruction was accumulating errors. Still, he persisted. Because that was what he was programmed to do. To continue. Fight. Eliminate.

— "Eliminate, Lucifer."

The voice came out distorted, faltering for a moment before stabilizing.

Vergil opened his eyes again, and this time there was something different in his gaze. It wasn’t interest. It wasn’t curiosity.

It was decision.

— You don’t understand what you’re saying — he murmured.

And then, finally, he truly moved.

The ground beneath his feet cracked the instant he disappeared, his speed surpassing ordinary perception. Angelo tried to react, his body expanding, creating defensive layers, multiple overlapping forms to absorb any impact.

It wasn’t enough.

Vergil cut through them all.

The cuts that followed were no longer merely destructive — they were surgical. Precise to a level that transcended the physical. He wasn’t just splitting Angelo’s body... he was separating that which held it together. Every link, every connection, every point where his existence was sustained.

When Vergil stopped, Angelo was still standing.

For a second.

Two.

Then, he began to disintegrate.

Not into large pieces, as before. But into fine fragments, almost like dust, his form slowly disintegrating, unable to recompose itself. For the first time since the beginning of the battle... he didn’t return.

The silence that followed was absolute.

Vergil stood still for a few moments, watching the last traces of Angelo disappear into thin air. There was no satisfaction on his face. No sense of victory.

Just emptiness.

He twirled Yamato in his hand and sheathed it with a smooth movement, as if ending something that should never have begun.

"A machine that believes itself to be a hunter..." he said, more to himself than to anyone else. "Pathetic."

Medusa, still coiled around his neck, moved slightly, her small head rising as she observed the spot where Angelo had vanished. There was caution in his gaze, but also curiosity.

Vergil didn’t comment.

He simply started walking again, his footsteps echoing through the destroyed labyrinth, as if none of it had really mattered.

And, for him... it hadn’t mattered at all.