My Wives Are Seven Beautiful Demonesses-Chapter 143 - No. Chaos Unleased (1)

Sorry for not uploading yesterday. The reason was quite surprising, as if someone had noticed the book was suddenly blocked/banned from novelkiss.

Because someone reported the book to be a fanfic due to containing the term— Haki.

Anyway, I’ve solved the problem by replacing the word Haki with Aura.

Your thoughts on this?

***

[Location: New York, USA]

"DARLING!"

Valeria, the lustful one, hauled herself onto me.

I hurriedly set Ravvy down before instinct and physics conspired to turn this into a felony. Ravvy wobbled on her feet, clutching the ruined cone like a fallen comrade, while Valeria wrapped her arms around my neck with zero concern for personal space, public decency, or the concept of breathing.

Her pink hair spilt over my shoulders like cotton candy given sentience. Warm. Soft. Dangerous.

"I missed you," Valeria purred directly into my ear, lips brushing skin just enough to be illegal in at least six states.

"It’s been 1022 years since I last saw you, sniff~ sniff~"

At first, I thought she was crying.

Then she inhaled again—slow, deep, criminally appreciative.

Nope.

She was smelling me.

Like a bloodhound that had discovered religion.

Valeria’s nose brushed the side of my neck, her breath warm, her grip tightening just enough to make it clear she had absolutely no intention of letting go anytime soon.

"Get. Off."

Ezravia’s voice cut through the noise like a blade sliding free of its sheath—cool, precise, edged with something sharp enough to draw blood without ever touching skin.

Valeria froze.

Not immediately—because Valeria never did anything immediately—but the pressure around my neck loosened just a fraction. Enough for oxygen to remember it had a job.

Slowly, very slowly, the lust fiancée leaned back just enough to look past me.

Ezravia stood three steps away.

Purple hair cascaded down her back like liquid amethyst, eyes narrowed—not in rage, but in jealousy.

Ezravia didn’t glare.

She calculated.

Valeria clicked her tongue, finally—finally—unhooking herself from my neck and stepping back half a pace, though her hands still rested possessively on my shoulders.

"Oh~? Jealous already?" Valeria teased, tilting her head. "I only hugged him. Hardly my fault if his scent is still illegal after a millennium."

Ezravia’s gaze slid from Valeria... to me... to Ravvy wobbling nearby with her fallen ice cream... then to Carmilla, who stood calm, composed, and unmistakably claimed.

Each glance lingered exactly one heartbeat longer than comfortable.

"I’m not jealous," Ezravia said at last. "I’m assessing how bad this situation has already become."

"That sounds like jealousy with extra steps," Valeria hummed.

Ezravia ignored her.

"D-Darlin—Er—Dominic,"

Ezravia froze mid-motion.

Not because of embarrassment.

Because she’d already moved.

Her arms were around me before her brain caught up—light, tentative, like she’d stepped off a cliff and was waiting to see if gravity still worked. Her forehead pressed against my chest, purple hair spilling forward to hide her face completely.

For a second, the world... stalled.

New York traffic honked.

Someone inside ABCD Tofu House dropped a plate.

Ravvy sniffled softly over her fallen ice cream like a widow at a wake.

And Ezravia—Envy incarnate—stood there quietly hugging me like a person who’d just realized she might be late to something important.

"I—" she started, then stopped.

Her fingers tightened in my coat.

"...I don’t know why I did that," she muttered.

Valeria blinked once.

Then twice.

Then her lips curved slowly, dangerously.

"Oh?" she drawled. "That’s interesting."

Ezravia did not look up. "Don’t start."

"I wasn’t going to~" Valeria replied sweetly. "I’m just... surprised. You usually glare from a distance first."

Ezravia’s shoulders stiffened. "You were on him."

"You’re on him," Valeria corrected.

Carmilla coughed.

Once.

Not loud.

Not sharp.

But the sound carried authority—the kind that reminded everyone present that she had survived longer than most empires and had absolutely no patience for petty squabbles in the middle of a sidewalk.

"Can you please—"

Sizzle~

BOOM!

My observation grid flared as the Armament core surged with a black membrane covering my back and hid Ezravia in my front.

"Leave Papa alone~"

Smoke curled from Eris’s tiny outstretched palm like a sulky thought refusing to dissipate.

The air rippled.

Not violently—Eris never did anything violently—but reality itself hesitated, as if deciding whether a child’s will should be allowed to overwrite local physics.

The black membrane of Armament Core receded from my back in a controlled wave, folding inward like obedient shadow. Ezravia was still in front of me, safely shielded, her arms locked around my waist now out of reflex rather than intent.

Silence hit.

The kind that made New York briefly forget how to breathe.

Car horns stalled mid-honk. A pigeon froze mid-hop.

Valeria was the first to move.

Slowly, carefully, she turned her head toward Eris.

Her expression shifted—not fear, not anger—but something... curious.

"Well," Valeria said lightly, raising both hands in mock surrender. "Someone woke up grumpy."

Eris puffed her cheeks.

"Don’t bully Papa," she said, voice small but absolute. "He is mine."

The word mine landed with a soft, terrifying finality.

Carmilla’s crimson eyes sharpened.

Ezravia stiffened.

Valeria’s smile... widened.

"Oh?" Valeria purred. "And who are you, little angel?"

"I am Eris," Eris replied simply. "Papa’s daughter."

That did it.

The tension didn’t explode—it compressed.

Like a spring wound too tight.

Ezravia finally pulled back just enough to look at Eris properly, her violet eyes widening a fraction. "Daughter...?"

"Yes," Eris said, nodding seriously. "Papa found me first."

Ravvy’s moist eyes, Valeria’s sharp gaze, and Ezravia’s cold, calculating stare all converged onto me.

I felt like a husband standing in front of his wife with a child and his mistress. I stood there, in the middle of New York, with three fiancées, one vampire wife, one angel child, and a rapidly deteriorating social situation.

I exhaled.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Like someone defusing a bomb while the bomb actively argued back.

"...Okay," I said at last, voice calm by sheer force of habit. "Everyone breathe. Preferably without setting anything on fire."

Eris blinked up at me, still puffed, wings twitching faintly. The air pressure around her finally loosened, reality deciding—reluctantly—that it could resume normal service.

Valeria tilted her head, eyes sparkling. "You didn’t deny it."

Ezravia’s grip tightened again—just a fraction. Not possessive. Not desperate. Just... anchored.

Ravvy sniffed.

Loudly.

"This is even worse than my ice cream dying," she whispered, mournful.

Carmilla, meanwhile, watched everything with the serene interest of a queen observing lesser nobles arguing over seating arrangements. Her hand never left my arm. Her presence alone was a reminder: this chaos already had a hierarchy, even if no one liked it.

Before anyone could escalate—

"DOMINIC!"

A familiar voice cut through the tension like a reset button.

I turned.

Zeraphira stood at the entrance of ABCD Tofu House, crimson eyes wide. Beside her—

Selene, wearing pink-striped stockings oversized witch hat, and chopsticks still in hand.

And Gabriel.

Carrying three takeout bags.

Smiling.

Clueless.

"Oh! Grandnephew," Gabriel said cheerfully, spotting us. "You’re late! We ordered for you—Selene said humans get upset if food goes cold."

Selene squinted at the scene.

At Valeria.

At Ezravia, clinging to me.

At Carmilla.

At Eris.

At Ravvy.

She adjusted her glasses.

"...Did I miss a cutscene?"

Zeraphira stepped forward slowly, eyes never leaving Eris. "Dominic," she said carefully. "Why is there a child calling you Papa?"

Every gaze in existence locked onto me.

New York included.

I felt the narrative threads tighten.

I did not panic.

I smiled.

"That," I said evenly, shifting Eris slightly higher on my hip as she relaxed against me, "is a very long story."

Eris nodded solemnly. "Papa saved me."

Valeria clapped once. "Aww."

Ezravia winced. "That’s... not helping."

Ravvy tugged my sleeve timidly. "Darling... ice cream?"

Selene’s eyes sparkled. "OH. She’s cute."

Zeraphira pinched the bridge of her nose.

Gabriel, still smiling, tilted her head. "Is... is this a human custom? Adoption through ice cream?"

I looked at her.

"...Sure," I said. "Let’s go with that."

Carmilla leaned in slightly, lips near my ear, voice smooth and dangerous. "You handle chaos well."

"I’ve had practice," I murmured back.

She smiled.

Not reassuringly.

I looked up at the gathered group, at the street, at the Empire State building that absolutely did not deserve what was about to happen inside it.

"Alright," I said, projecting calm. "Everyone. Home. Now."

"What’s the hurry, Prince of Hell?"

Everyone froze. Because the elevator behind us dinged.

And out stepped...

A single old werewolf—

"Hey, is this the only entry you know, huh?" Valeria shouted while pointing at the grey-furred, perfectly brushed, with a long, flowing beard that shimmered like a silver silk in the noon sun. His robe was a navy-blue bathrobe tied with a rope that looked suspiciously like it had once been used to walk a dog.

Still carrying a streaming mug.

The mug read: #1 Grandpaw.

"At least change the mug!" Again, Valeria shouted.

The old werewolf blinked.

Once.

Then again.

He looked down at the mug in his hand as if seeing it for the first time.

"...Rude," he muttered mildly, lifting it an inch closer to his beard. "This was a gift."

Valeria scoffed, arms crossed, pink hair swaying. "A gift that screams retired suburban menace. You’re embarrassing the supernatural community."

The werewolf sighed—long, tired, the sigh of someone who had personally witnessed several civilizations invent fire and then immediately misuse it.

"Kids these days," he said. "No respect for elders. No appreciation for good ceramics."

He took a slow sip.

Steam curled around his muzzle.

Everyone was still frozen.

Not because of killing intent.

Not because of power.

But because something was... wrong.

"You were not the one who stopped me."

***

Stone me, I can take it!

Please leave a review; it really helps.

Comments are almost nonexistent. Which, in turn, demotivates the authors. Please have some compassion.