My Wives are Beautiful Demons

Chapter 837: Nyx, The Primordial Goddess of Night.

The highest point of Sparda stood above the palace’s main towers, where the wind of the Demon World struck without obstacle against black stone, ancient statues, and structures raised by generations who believed greatness needed to be seen from afar. Vergil stood at the edge of an open platform, his hands free at his sides and his gaze turned toward that world’s dark-red horizon. Below him, Sparda remained alive, immense and restless, with fortresses, walls, rivers of demonic energy, and entire regions where ancient creatures moved like shadows between mountains. All of that was his territory, in a sense. His home, his kingdom, his responsibility. And precisely because of that, Persephone’s proposal bothered him so much.He was not afraid of Tartarus. Fear was not the correct word. Vergil knew the difference between apprehension and calculation well enough. Entering a domain sealed by Hades himself, where Thanatos was also trapped and where something had tried to rupture dimensional boundaries, was not a demonstration of courage. It was, potentially, stupidity. If the entrance existed, but the exit did not, then any promise of reward needed to be measured against the possibility of being trapped inside a hell that even the god of that hell could not abandon. The Helm of Darkness was an absurd offer, powerful enough to move kings, gods, and assassins. Even so, Vergil looked at the horizon and wondered whether it was worth risking everything only to prevent something worse from happening afterward.

The problem was that "something worse" had already come far too close. Sapphire had been imprisoned. Sepphirothy had been captured. Lilith had been thrown into a coma. The Deadly Sins had attempted a rebellion using the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Spectre and Dante had been only the visible parts of a greater structure. Helheim had been attacked, Naraka touched, Tartarus sealed, and Yama’s system might be at risk. He did not need to like the politics of the pantheons to recognize the pattern. Someone was testing the walls of death, one by one, until they found where reality would give way first.

That was when he felt something strange invade his body.

It was not a blade, nor poison, nor an ordinary attempt at possession. The presence arrived like pure night, crossing his perception before any physical defense mattered. Vergil turned his face, the energy inside him reacting immediately, but the world around him vanished in the blink of an eye. The platform, the wind, the demonic horizon, and the towers of Sparda were swallowed by a darkness so complete that it seemed to precede the very idea of shadow.

When his feet touched the ground again, there was no visible ground.

There was only absolute darkness.

Vergil remained motionless, but his energy organized itself instantly. The Authority of Death answered within him, the moons of the Sins stirred silently in the depths of his being, and Wrath brushed the edges of his consciousness like a chained animal scenting a threat. He did not unsheathe Yamato, but the possibility was present in the air as if the blade had already been partially drawn from its sheath.

"Who are you?" he asked.

Before any answer came, a table appeared in the void.

There was no flash, gradual formation, or construction of matter. The table simply came to exist, long, dark, polished like obsidian, with chairs lined on both sides and a single figure seated at the opposite end. Her presence illuminated only the minimum necessary for her to be seen, but it did not drive away the darkness around her. On the contrary, it seemed to belong to it. Vergil caught the glimpse of a woman of severe and ancient beauty, seated with calm posture before him, as if receiving a guest in a hall that had existed before the gods learned to name their domains.

The woman had long, dark hair, falling in soft layers around her face and shoulders, with reflections that seemed to alternate between deep black and brown beneath the nonexistent light of that place. Her eyes were clear, almost lilac, cold and luminous like stars seen through a moonless sky. Golden ornaments were pinned in her hair, pieces shaped like leaves and metallic flowers that gave her a royal air without looking like vain adornments. Long golden earrings descended beside her face, and her garments mixed white and deep blue in broad, ancient, almost ceremonial layers. Over her shoulders and chest, golden details formed a noble structure, reminiscent of light armor or divine insignia, but nothing about her seemed made for ordinary war. It was a cold, respectful, distant beauty, like night looking at the world without needing to ask permission to cover it.

"Forgive me," she said, her voice calm and low, yet carrying a depth that made the surrounding darkness seem to listen with her. "I could not appear directly in Sparda, so I brought you here."

Vergil did not answer immediately. His gaze moved over the table, the void, the woman, and the complete absence of any visible threat. That, by itself, did not mean safety. Many of the most dangerous things in the world knew how to look calm when they wanted to. Even so, there was something in her posture that did not fit an aggressive invasion. It was not Olympian arrogance, nor Persephone’s crude urgency, nor the common theatrics of divinities accustomed to being obeyed.

She stood.

And then, to Vergil’s surprise, she bowed before him.

It was not a shallow inclination. The woman lowered her body with real respect, keeping her hands close to herself and her head down long enough to make it clear that this was not diplomatic pretense. Vergil narrowed his eyes, more bothered by the reverence than he would have been by a threat. Being attacked was simple. Being respected in that way by an entity who clearly carried a primordial presence was much harder to interpret.

"My name is Nyx," she said, still bowed for an instant before rising again. "I am what the Greeks call the primordial goddess of night."

The name made the surrounding silence seem denser.

Nyx.

Vergil knew enough of ancient myths to understand the weight of that name. Not an ordinary Olympian goddess, not a lesser queen, not an entity dependent on temples, offerings, or recent genealogies. Nyx was one of those presences that belonged to the world before the gods organized their thrones. A personification, an origin, a force that did not need to impose itself because its existence preceded the rules used to measure authority.

Vergil’s gaze moved over the woman again, now searching for cracks. Lies, fear, manipulation, any trace of theatrics. He found caution, yes. He found concern. He found a kind of respect that seemed carefully chosen, not born of natural submission. But he found no immediate falsehood. That did not make him calm. It merely made the situation stranger.

Nyx noticed his lack of response.

"I imagine my presence is inconvenient," she said, keeping her voice respectful. "And I understand if you consider this an invasion. But I only came to ensure that your decision to help us is made consciously."

Vergil remained standing, without sitting at the table. "Help us."

"Yes." Nyx held his gaze firmly, though without challenging him. "On behalf of the Greek gods, I, Nyx, offer myself as your subordinate if Hades’s Helm is not enough to pay for your help."

The silence that followed was different.

Vergil did not move for a few seconds.

The sentence was too absurd to be treated as simple negotiation. First Persephone had appeared, saying Hades would offer the Helm of Darkness. Now Nyx, a primordial goddess of night, appeared in an isolated space, bowed, and offered her own servitude as additional compensation. Gods did not do that without reason. Ancient gods even less so. And primordial gods practically never.

Vergil released a slow sigh.

"First, the Helm of Darkness," he said, his voice low, but hard. "An item that, by itself, is a direct symbol of Hades’s power. Now the Primordial Goddess of Night herself comes to see me and offers herself as a subordinate."

Nyx did not look away.

Vergil took a step forward.

The darkness around them responded to his presence, but did not swallow him. His eyes began to glow purple, and the energy of Death rose inside him with cold clarity. There was no explosion, but the table between them creaked faintly, as if the reality of that space had felt pressure it had not expected. The Authorities within him remained repressed, but present, six invisible moons and a seventh absence rotating in the depths of his soul.

"What is really happening?" Vergil asked. "I am not stupid."

Nyx remained silent long enough to show she had expected that question.

Then she sat again, though not in a relaxed way. Her posture remained formal, and she indicated the chair opposite her with a simple gesture. "Sit, if you wish. What I will say should not be heard by many."

Vergil did not sit.

Nyx accepted the refusal without insisting.

"Tartarus was not merely attacked," she said. "It was recognized."

Vergil narrowed his eyes. "Explain."

"There is a difference between invading a domain and recognizing it in its totality. Many can enter a hell, a spiritual prison, or a realm of the dead through force, ritual, or authorization. Very few can comprehend the complete structure of such a place. Its entrances, exits, functions, laws, cycles, and blind spots. What reached Tartarus was not merely trying to open a door. It was mapping the prison."

Vergil’s expression hardened.

Nyx continued. "Hades realized too late that some ancient condemnations had been used as markers. Creatures imprisoned since eras before Olympus began to move in a coordinated manner, not because they had regained freedom, but because something spoke to their chains from the outside in. Thanatos tried to cut the communication. Hades sealed Tartarus to prevent the map from being completed."

"And that trapped them both."

"Yes."

Vergil moved his eyes over the darkness around them. "Why does that require my presence?"

"Because what is being sought is not only Tartarus." Nyx rested her hands on the table, her long fingers touching the dark surface delicately. "Tartarus is one of the points. Helheim, Naraka, the ancient system of Yama, the Christian Underworld, all are parts of a larger structure. Each domain of death has a different way of dealing with souls, condemnation, oblivion, rebirth, or imprisonment. Someone is searching for what exists in common between all of them."

Vergil remembered Wukong’s words.

What existed before the gods decided to put pretty names on death.

"And what exists in common?" he asked.

Nyx looked at him with a seriousness that made the void heavier.

"The Night remembers."

Vergil fell silent.

Nyx continued before he could ask. "Before gods governed the dead, before hells had names, before judgments, gates, rivers, dogs, valkyries, demons, or angels, there was the passage. Life ended. Something crossed. And the first place where all of that was hidden from the world of the living was the Night. I am not speaking only of myself as a person, Vergil. I am speaking of the principle. The absence of light where the end could happen unseen."

"You are saying they are after something older than the Underworlds."

"Yes."

"And you know what it is."

Nyx did not answer immediately.

That was enough.

Vergil took another step toward the table. "Say it."

The primordial goddess of night lowered her eyes for an instant. When she spoke again, her voice was still calm, but there was a different caution in it. "There is a region that belongs to no pantheon. No god created it. No god governs it. It is not hell, heaven, purgatory, prison, or cycle. It is the place where death arrived before it was administered."

Vergil did not like the feeling that description caused.

"Name."

"The Greeks do not have a correct name for it," Nyx said. "For convenience, we call it the First Shadow."

The darkness around them seemed to contract slightly upon hearing that.

"And the organization wants to open this."

"Wants to find it," Nyx corrected. "Opening it may be a consequence. Controlling it may be an ambition. But first they need to find it, and for that they are striking every system created after it. If they map the responses, reactions, and cracks of each domain of death, perhaps they can triangulate what was buried before our names."

Vergil remained motionless, but the energy in his eyes grew more intense. "Why did Hades not tell Persephone this?"

"Because Persephone knows part of it," Nyx answered. "Not all. Hades fears any mind linked to Tartarus may be observed. Thanatos too. The less she knows, the smaller the chance of her being used as a bridge."

"But you came to me."

"Because you are already a bridge."

Vergil narrowed his eyes.

Nyx held his gaze, without retreating. "You carry Death, Sin, sacred and demonic energy, blood from lineages that cross worlds, and a recent connection with multiple systems. That makes you dangerous to them. It also makes you dangerous to us. But above all, it makes you one of the few existences capable of entering a contaminated structure without being immediately rewritten by it."

"Or exactly what they want."

"Yes."

Her honesty kept Vergil from responding immediately.

Nyx went on. "That is why I came before your decision. Not to convince you with empty promises, but to ensure you understand the real risk. If you accept helping, perhaps the enemy will try to use your presence to complete what Hades interrupted. If you refuse, perhaps they will continue attacking other domains until they find a worse substitute. No choice is clean."

Vergil looked at her for a few seconds.

"And your offer?" he asked. "Subordination."

Nyx inclined her head, without shame and without wounded pride. "If you enter this, you will need a Night that does not belong to the enemy. My presence can conceal your passage, confuse ancient readings, and prevent certain entities from perceiving your movements. It can also serve as political guarantee. If Hades’s Helm does not compensate the risk, my temporary obedience perhaps will."

"Temporary?"

"Until the end of the crisis or until the debt is considered paid by you."

Vergil let out a low sound, without humor. "You are offering better terms than most gods."

"I am older than most of their mistakes."

For the first time, Vergil almost seemed to accept the sentence as a decent answer.

Even so, his eyes remained purple.

"If I discover this is an attempt to push me into an Olympian trap, I will come out of it carrying the Helm, your night, and the head of whoever thought that was intelligent."

Nyx did not seem offended. "I would expect nothing less."

Vergil observed her for a few more instants.

Her beauty remained serious, almost untouchable. Her clear eyes did not tremble. The golden jewels in her hair shone faintly, like distant stars swallowed by a greater night. She did not look like someone desperate to deceive him. She looked like someone too old to still enjoy small lies, but pressured enough to accept humbling herself before a man whom, until recently, many gods might have treated only as a demon.

"I will listen to Hades," Vergil said at last. "I have not accepted entering yet."

Nyx nodded. "That is already more than many would do."

"Do not praise me."

"It was not praise. It was evaluation."

Vergil turned slightly, searching for the edge of that space. "Return me to Sparda."

Nyx stood again. "I will. But first, one last thing."

Vergil looked at her.

"If you hear something calling your name inside Tartarus, do not answer. Even if it sounds like Hades. Even if it sounds like Thanatos. Even if it sounds like someone you love."

Vergil’s expression became completely cold.

Nyx noticed the effect of the sentence, but did not retreat.

"Especially if it sounds like someone you love," she completed.

The darkness around them opened before Vergil could answer. The void was pulled back like a curtain of night, and the wind of the Demon World returned to touch his face. In the blink of an eye, he was once again at the highest point of Sparda, before the dark-red horizon, with the palace towers below and the sensation of Nyx’s presence still clinging to his skin like ancient cold.

Vergil remained motionless for some time.

Then he looked at his own dark reflection on a polished surface of the nearby stone. His eyes still glowed purple.

"First Shadow," he murmured.

Persephone’s proposal had just become much worse.