My Wives Are Seven Beautiful Demonesses-Chapter 144 - No. Chaos Unleashed (2)

[Location: New York, USA]

"You were not the one who stopped me, right?"

The words slipped out of my mouth before I’d fully realized I’d stepped forward.

Not aggressively.

Instinctively.

Like my body had already decided where it needed to be before my brain caught up.

I stood half a step ahead of everyone now—subtly shielding Eris behind my leg, Ravvy clutching my coat sleeve, Ezravia hovering close enough to be mistaken for a shadow, and Carmilla’s presence pressing in from my side like a silent verdict.

The old werewolf stared at me.

Then—slowly—his eyes drifted past me.

To Eris.

He squinted.

Not suspiciously.

Not fearfully.

More like someone trying to read very small print without glasses.

"...Huh," he muttered.

Valeria leaned out from behind me, hands on her hips. "Hey! Barkimedes! Don’t ignore the question—he asked you something!"

I turned to look at her, "You know him?"

She pointed at Ravvy and Ezravia and said, "When we came here from hell, his werewolves were upon us, demanding we meet this ’Wet Dog Elderly’ to... what was it again?"

Ezravia finished the sentence calmly.

"...Us trespassing on their territory."

Valeria snapped her fingers. "Yes! That. Very rude welcome, by the way. No snacks. No directions. Just fur and yelling."

The old werewolf—Barkimedes, apparently—let out a long, slow breath through his nose.

The kind of breath that carried centuries of disappointment.

"Territory," he repeated mildly. "Is a strong word."

He finally lifted his gaze back to me.

Then immediately passed me.

Again.

To Eris.

She peeked around my leg, golden eyes wide, wings tucked tight. She wasn’t scared—just curious in that quietly dangerous way children had when they were deciding whether something was friend-shaped.

"...Oh," Barkimedes murmured. "That explains it."

I frowned. "Explains what?"

"Why Olympus chose to intervene, sensing this much holy power... quite a mess," Barkimedes finished, lifting the mug again and taking another unhurried sip. "Though I must say, this is not how I imagined my afternoon tea going."

I stared at him.

He stared at Eris.

Eris stared back.

They stared at each other in a silent contest that lasted exactly three seconds—until Eris tilted her head.

"Papa," she whispered, not breaking eye contact with the old werewolf. "Is he... fluffy?"

Valeria choked.

Ezravia covered her mouth, eyes flickering with poorly suppressed amusement.

Carmilla’s lips curved—just barely.

Barkimedes blinked.

Once.

Then his bushy brows lifted in mild surprise. "...Fluffy," he repeated. He glanced down at his own grey fur, brushing a hand over his beard thoughtfully. "I suppose that is... technically accurate."

Eris brightened. "Can I touch?"

"No," I said instantly.

"Yes," Barkimedes said at the exact same time.

I whipped my head toward him. "Absolutely not."

He raised a brow. "You deny a child’s curiosity?"

"I deny unknown elders with unclear intentions access to my daughter," I replied calmly.

That word—daughter—did something subtle.

Barkimedes’ expression didn’t harden.

It softened.

Not sentimentally. Practically.

"...Ah," he said again, slower this time. "So that’s how it is."

Zeraphira stepped closer, crimson eyes narrowing. "You still haven’t answered the question. You said he wasn’t the one who stopped you. Who were you referring to?"

"That would be me, finally got to meet my favourite person these days~"

The voice rolled through the street like a blade dragged lazily across stone.

Not loud.

Not shouted.

Yet every living thing within earshot felt it.

The air tightened.

Not pressure—intent.

Pure, distilled, unapologetic battle intent.

I felt it first through my spine. A cold awareness crawling upward, setting every nerve on edge. Observation Grid flared reflexively—not to analyze, not to predict, but simply to survive the sudden intrusion of something that fundamentally did not belong in a civilian street next to a tofu restaurant.

Valeria stiffened instantly, pink hair lifting slightly as if caught in a static field.

Ezravia’s pupils shrank to pinpricks.

Ravvy whimpered softly and ducked behind my leg, clutching fabric with both hands like she might anchor herself to reality that way.

Carmilla didn’t move.

She didn’t need to.

Her crimson eyes slid sideways, calm, assessing—like a monarch recognizing another apex predator entering the same territory.

Zeraphira’s aura flared halfway out before she consciously restrained it, teeth clenched.

Selene whispered, very softly, very excitedly:

"Whoa... boss music."

Gabriel blinked.

"Oh! Ares?" she said politely, peeking around Zeraphira’s shoulder. "You’re... here too?"

I exhaled slowly.

That name.

Ares.

God of War.

Greek Pantheon.

The same one whose avatar I’d personally erased inside a Minotaur body.

The same one whose champion, Torion, I had killed without ceremony.

The same one who, by all logical divine accounting, should not be standing three meters behind an old werewolf in a bathrobe.

And yet—

He was.

Ares stepped forward.

Not summoned.

Not descended.

He simply arrived.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Red hair tied back loosely, eyes burning with a sharp, eager crimson that had nothing to do with divinity and everything to do with violence barely leashed. He wore no armour—just a black sleeveless coat, combat boots, and fingerless gloves stained dark with something that definitely wasn’t wine.

His grin was wide.

Joyful.

Unhinged.

"Relax, relax," Ares said cheerfully, raising both hands as if calming a crowd. "No fighting yet. I promised Athena I wouldn’t start anything in public again."

Zeraphira hissed under her breath. "Again?"

Selene’s eyes sparkled. "Wait—again???"

Barkimedes sighed.

A deep, tired sigh.

"The agreement was no manifestations above SS-Rank, Ares," the old werewolf said mildly, lifting his mug. "You’re leaking."

Ares glanced down at himself, then shrugged. "Occupational hazard."

He stepped past Barkimedes without asking.

Without resistance.

Without permission.

A thin, mist-like vapour rolled outward from Ares’s boots, crawling across the pavement like a lazy fog that had lost its way.

Pedestrians mid-step slowed.

Then... kept walking.

Phones buzzed back to life. Car horns resumed. A taxi nearly clipped a hydrant.

The world blinked—and forgot.

"Camouflage mist," Ares said proudly, spreading his arms. "Courtesy of Hephaestus. Masks divine presence, suppresses collateral panic, slightly smells like burnt olives. Convenient, right?"

Selene raised a hand. "It does smell like burnt olives."

"I already had my spell active, but I guess it’s not needed anymore~" Selene added cheerfully, twirling her chopsticks like a wand. "Ares-sama, you’re kinda overkill for a casual meetup, you know?"

Ares laughed. A loud, honest sound. "Casual? I heard there was a child with unstable holy authority, one high-ranked archangel, five demon royalty, an ancient vampire, and a werewolf elder arguing over mugs."

He leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming. "How could I not come?" 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

My Observation Grid pulsed—not with warnings, but with irritation.

This man was enjoying this far too much.

I shifted my stance without thinking, placing myself squarely between Ares and Eris. My body reacted faster than my mind, Armament Core humming faintly beneath my skin like a coiled wire.

Ares noticed immediately.

"Oh?" His grin sharpened. "Instinctive shielding. Nice. You don’t even realize you’re doing it."

"I realize enough," I replied evenly. "You’re leaking intent in the middle of Manhattan."

He shrugged. "War leaks. That’s kind of the point."

Zeraphira stepped forward now. Her gaze locked onto Ares with open hostility. "State your purpose, Olympian. This is not your jurisdiction."

"Jurisdiction?" Ares repeated, amused. "Cute word. The entirety of New York is under the Greek Pantheon’s monitoring, darling," Ares finished cheerfully, spreading his arms as if unveiling a theme park. "Shared city. Rotational oversight. Mostly Athena’s paperwork nightmare, if I’m being honest."

Zeraphira’s eye twitched.

"Monitoring," she repeated flatly. "You do not monitor without notice."

Ares tilted his head. "We sent a notice."

Selene perked up instantly. "Ooooh? When?"

"About... hm." He squinted, counting on his fingers. "Three thousand years ago?"

Selene clapped. "Ah! Yeah, that one probably got lost in the mail."

Zeraphira pinched the bridge of her nose. Hard.

I resisted the urge to sigh. Barely.

"Let’s skip jurisdictional debates," I said calmly. "You stopped us just now. What do you want?"

Ares’ grin widened.

"Straight to business," he said approvingly. "I like that. No posturing, no screaming divine titles into the sky. Very efficient."

He took another step forward.

My entire being flared a silver of Conqueror’s Will stirred.

Not explosively.

Not visibly.

Just enough that the air between us tightened, like reality itself had decided to pay attention.

Ares felt it instantly.

His grin didn’t fade.

It sharpened.

"Oh?" he said, delighted. "That’s cute."

Zeraphira’s head snapped toward me. Selene’s chopsticks froze mid-spin. Carmilla’s crimson eyes narrowed—not in alarm, but in interest.

Eris tugged lightly at my coat. "Papa... he’s loud."

"I know," I murmured. "Stay behind me."

Ares chuckled. "She calls you Papa. Hah! I was wondering when that would come up."

"That," Zeraphira snapped, "is none of your business."

"Everything is my business," Ares replied easily. "That’s the downside of being War. Conflict eventually walks into my living room whether I invite it or not."

He rolled his shoulders once, like a man loosening up before a sparring match.

Then he pointed—not at me.

At Eris.

"That child," he said, tone suddenly sharp beneath the humour, "is the reason Olympus stirred."

The street seemed to dim a fraction.

And that did it.

BOOOOM!

"Choose your next words very carefully, otherwise..." my voice dipped—not loud, not sharp—but it carried just enough weight that even the fog Ares had spread seemed to hesitate, "...this becomes a very different kind of conversation."

The sentence didn’t finish.

It didn’t need to.

The space between us tightened, like the city itself had leaned in to listen.

Ares’ grin paused.

Just for a fraction of a second.

Not gone.

Paused.

"Oh?" he said, amused, eyes flicking over me again—not dismissively this time, but with curiosity sharpened by interest. "You finally growl. Took longer than I expected."

"I’m not growling," I replied evenly. "I’m setting boundaries."

Valeria leaned over my shoulder, stage-whispering loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Ooooh, boundaries. That’s hot."

Ezravia shot her a look. "This is not the time."

"Disagree~" Valeria chirped.

Barkimedes cleared his throat. Once. Firmly.

"If we’re done measuring whose divine aura makes the pavement nervous," the old werewolf said mildly, "might I remind everyone this is still a public street?"

Ares waved a hand dismissively. "Relax. I already fogged it. Humans won’t remember anything past ’weird cosplay event.’"

A woman pushing a stroller passed behind him, glanced at the gathering of supernatural absurdity, nodded once, and muttered, "New York," before continuing on her way.

Selene beamed. "See? Cultural adaptation!"

Zeraphira did not look amused.

Her crimson eyes were locked on Ares, wings half-unfurled in restrained tension. "You said Olympus stirred because of the child," she said coldly. "Explain. Now."

Ares tilted his head, studying her for a moment. Then his gaze slid—again—to Eris.

Eris, for her part, was peeking out from behind my leg, golden eyes narrowed slightly. Not hostile.

Evaluating.

The exact same look she’d given Barkimedes earlier.

Ares chuckled under his breath. "Yeah. That tracks."

"Tracks what?" I asked.

"That she’s not afraid of me," he replied lightly. "Most gods, angels, demons—they feel war before they see it. Ancient race like her?" He tapped his temple. "She..."

***

Stone me, I can take it!

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