My Wives are Beautiful Demons-Chapter 719: Chaos Before The Golden Dawn.

The impact of the change was felt even before it was understood. The entire tournament, which until then existed as a relatively isolated space within the larger structure of that domain, began to vibrate erratically, as if reality itself were being pushed from the outside in.

The combatants scattered throughout the labyrinth’s corridors stopped, some by instinct, others by sheer fear, all realizing that something had irreversibly changed. It wasn’t just destruction spreading, but a growing, heavy presence that made the air denser with each passing second.

In the center of that escalating chaos, Shiva was the first to react directly, his body still radiating the heat and intensity of his destructive dance as his eyes scanned the surrounding environment, perceiving the gradual collapse of the structure.

He opened his mouth and his voice echoed with enough force to pierce walls and reach anyone still conscious within that battlefield.

"Stop!" He shouted, not as a request, but as an order laden with authority, a desperate attempt to stop it before it became uncontrollable.

Alice, still partially regaining her balance after the series of impacts, looked up immediately upon hearing the shout.

Her body still pulsed with magical energy, her mind working at extreme speed to process not only the fight against Shiva, but also everything that was happening around her.

For the first time since the beginning of that confrontation, she hesitated. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she analyzed the environment, realizing that this was no longer just a fight between competitors.

"...I agree," she said, her voice lower but firm, laden with a logical understanding of the situation. Continuing to fight at that moment no longer made strategic sense. The scenario had changed, and she was, above all, someone who prioritized analysis and adaptation.

But the truce did not come.

Before anyone could act on that decision, Angelo’s presence changed.

It wasn’t gradual.

It wasn’t a progressive increase in power.

It was an abrupt, violent leap, as if something had been unlocked within him without warning.

His aura expanded in an explosion of energy that distorted the surrounding space, creating such intense pressure that the very ground beneath his feet instantly shattered. His already imposing body seemed to become even heavier, denser, as if multiple existences were overlapping within him simultaneously.

And then he moved.

Vergil had no time to react.

The blow came from above, a brutal descent of concentrated force that smashed his body against the ground with an impact that reverberated throughout the labyrinth’s structure. The sound wasn’t just physical, it was visceral, as if something had been broken at a level deeper than bones or flesh.

For the first time since the beginning of that confrontation, Vergil’s body failed to fully absorb the impact. His chest clenched violently, and blood rushed to his throat before he could stop it.

He spat, the dark liquid staining the floor beneath him, his eyes narrowing not from pain, but from something far more unusual.

Surprise. 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

Angelo didn’t stop.

His next movement was even quicker, even more direct. He spun his body with mechanical precision, his attention immediately turning to Shiva, who was still in position after his scream. There was no dialogue. No hesitation. Just action.

The punch crossed the space between them in an instant.

The impact was dry.

Brutal.

Angelo’s hand pierced Shiva’s abdomen as if there were no resistance, cutting through flesh, muscle, and bone in a single continuous motion. The sound that followed wasn’t a scream, but a gasp, an abrupt loss of breath.

Shura’s body bent forward, his eyes widening as his energy, that fiery dance that defined his existence at that moment, simply... ceased.

But it wasn’t just a body being destroyed.

Something detached itself.

A presence.

Shiva’s possession, the force that propelled his body, vanished completely, ripped away with that blow, dissipating into thin air like smoke carried by an invisible wind.

Angelo pulled his arm back.

And, without any expression, without any pause, he brought the body to his own mouth.

And devoured it.

There was no hurry, but there was also no ceremony. It was a functional, direct act, as if it were simply part of his process. Flesh, bones, energy, everything was consumed, absorbed, integrated. His aura expanded again, even denser, even more oppressive.

And then his eyes turned to Alice.

She was already in motion.

Her fingers rose, tracing complex patterns in the air as multiple magic circles began to form around her, overlapping, interconnected, each feeding the next in a growing chain of energy. Her mind had already shifted. This was no longer an ordinary fight. It was a survival analysis against something that was evolving in real time, surpassing limits she hadn’t yet fully mapped.

But she didn’t have time to finish.

Angelo disappeared.

And reappeared before her.

The blow came straight for her body, without deviation, without hesitation, carrying a clear and absolute intention of annihilation. The air around her compressed even before the impact, the pressure being enough to crush everything in an immediate radius.

But the blow didn’t hit her.

Between her and death, a figure emerged.

Vergil.

His movement was precise, instantaneous, as if he had traversed space at the last possible moment. In his hand, the Nidhogg scythe materialized, its dark blade intercepting Angelo’s fist in a direct block.

The impact was immediate.

And devastating.

The blade did not yield.

But Vergil’s body did.

The force behind that blow was not something that could be completely neutralized. It was like holding back the impact of a falling mountain. Their feet were ripped from the ground in the same instant, and the energy released in the shock spread in a wave of destruction that pushed everything around them.

Vergil and Alice were thrown backward.

Their bodies shot through the air at high speed before colliding with a wall of the labyrinth. The structure, which had already withstood countless impacts throughout the battle, simply could not resist. Stone and magic shattered on contact, creating an explosion of debris that spread through the corridor.

The impact partially buried them in the rubble.

For a brief second...

There was silence.

Angelo watched.

Motionless.

His eyes analyzing, processing, as if recalibrating his next action.

And then he raised his arm.

The movement was simple.

Almost casual.

But the effect was absolute.

Energy concentrated around his body, compressing until it reached a point of extreme density before being released in a single blow against the space around him. It wasn’t just a physical attack. It was a rupture.

The labyrinth of Daedalus...

Collapsed.

The walls, stretching for impossible distances, began to crack simultaneously, as if a single point of failure had spread throughout the structure. The magic that sustained that place, complex and intricate, was overwhelmed in an instant, unable to withstand the force applied against it.

The collapse was inevitable.

Entire corridors crumbled, entire sections of the labyrinth disintegrated, the ceiling gave way in multiple places at once. The sound was deafening, a continuous sequence of destruction that echoed throughout the tournament’s domain.

What was once a controlled field...

Had become an open landscape of ruins.

And at the center of it all...

Angelo stood.

Momentary.

Untouched.

Like a fixed point amidst absolute collapse.

The air that remained from the ancient labyrinth no longer carried any trace of order, as if the very concept of structure had been violently ripped from the world. What was once stone, corridors, and impossible architecture had now become an open field of destruction, where dust, fragments, and echoes of energy collided in a silent storm.

At the center of that chaos, space began to deform, as if something were being pushed from the inside out, a presence that not only occupied the place but replaced it with its own existence.

Then he emerged.

Dante appeared at the epicenter as if he had always belonged there, floating with disconcerting naturalness, his body relaxed, his eyes shining with an almost childlike enthusiasm, while around him the world seemed to hesitate, unable to decide whether it should continue to exist or simply give way.

He began to laugh. It wasn’t a light or playful laugh, but something deep, laden with meaning, as if each sound were a harbinger of something irreversible.

His presence was not only powerful, it was wrong, out of place, as if he were operating on a logic completely different from that reality.

The energy emanating from him was not merely felt; it pressed, crushed, invaded everything around him, causing even those accustomed to divine battles to hesitate for a moment. His eyes calmly scanned the battlefield, absorbing every detail, every expression, every reaction. He was satisfied. More than that, he was exactly where he wanted to be.

Then, slowly, he raised one hand.

The gesture was simple, almost casual, but the effect was immediate and absolute. A circle began to form above him, not like an ordinary construction, but as a manifestation of something much older and much deeper.

Lines of black and gold energy intertwined, expanding into impossible patterns that seemed to exist in multiple dimensions at once. Symbols appeared and disappeared in sequence, each carrying an overwhelming authority, as if each stroke were a law imposed on reality. The circle grew, expanded, surpassed any visible limit, until it covered the entire sky with its oppressive presence.

Dante tilted his head slightly, observing his own creation with a satisfied smile.

"Demonic Magic: Demonic Castle."

The words didn’t just echo through the air. They penetrated space, matter, the essence of things. It was as if the whole world had heard.

And then everything changed.

The divine energy, which until then filled every fragment of that place, simply vanished.

It wasn’t drained slowly, nor consumed gradually. It was ripped away, removed from existence as if it had never belonged to that plane. The effect was instantaneous.

Lesser gods, those who depended directly on that energy to maintain their own existence, began to stagger, their bodies trembling, their forms unstable. Some fell to their knees, others tried to resist, but it was useless. Without the energy that sustained them, they began to disintegrate, their forms dissipating into particles that were immediately absorbed by the circle above.

The screams began.

Despair, disbelief, pain. All mixed in a chaotic chorus that spread across the battlefield. Those who until recently were considered superior beings now found themselves powerless, unable to comprehend what was happening.

Some tried to flee, but there was nowhere to go. Space itself seemed to have been sealed, transformed into a prison with no way out. Others tried to attack, launching desperate blows against Dante, but their assaults simply vanished before reaching him, as if the reality around him refused any attempt at aggression.

The strongest gods resisted.

Their bodies trembled under the pressure, but did not crumble. They remained standing, sustaining their existence through sheer strength, pure will. Their eyes were fixed on Dante, full of fury, but also of something deeper. Fear. They understood, even if only partially, what was happening. This was not just an attack. It was a rewriting.

Dante slowly opened his arms, as if embracing the world itself.

Above him, the circle began to spin. The absorbed energy began to condense, to compress, to transform. What were once scattered fragments now united at a central point, forming something new. Something dense, brilliant, pulsating. The light emanating from that formation was neither purely divine nor purely demonic. It was a mixture, a synthesis, something that shouldn’t exist.

Dante watched intently, his eyes fixed on the process.

"Yes... that’s it..."

His voice was low, almost a whisper, but it carried absolute satisfaction.

The energy continued to condense, becoming more and more intense, more and more concentrated. The surrounding air seemed to vibrate, unable to withstand the density of what was being created. Space distorted, natural laws bent, everything forced to adapt to the presence of this new object.

And then, finally, it took shape.

An apple.

Golden, perfect, shining like a small sun suspended in the air. Its surface seemed alive, pulsating with an energy that couldn’t be fully comprehended. It was beautiful, but there was something profoundly unsettling about its existence, as if looking at it for too long was enough to realize that it wasn’t just a simple fruit.

It was something much greater.

Dante reached out and the apple slowly descended, resting in his palm as if it had always belonged there. He observed it for a few seconds, rotating it slightly, admiring every detail, every reflection of light that moved across its surface.

"Finally..."