"You're quite... perverted," Vergil commented, raising an eyebrow as he crossed his arms. "You know she's just a little girl, right?"
The accusation was far from malicious—it was just dry, like everything Vergil said. But it carried the weight of someone who saw an obsession beginning to form there. A dangerous obsession.
Seris's eyes widened for a moment. Then she let out a nervous laugh.
"Oh, heavens! No, no, no!" She waved her hand, almost tripping over her own words. "Not like that! Not with... that connotation."
She stood up abruptly, slapping her cheeks with her palms, as if trying to dispel any wrong suggestion that had escaped her mouth—or her uncontrolled enthusiasm.
"Vergil, by all the veils of chaos, give me some credit!" she said, with an exaggerated grimace. "What excites me is the potential! The wonder! The beauty of the impossible bending before your eyes. It's like... like watching the birth of a star! You don't want to touch it—you just want to see how far it can shine before collapsing into a new galaxy!"
She spun on her heels and pointed dramatically toward the sky.
"It's art! It's transcendental arcane physics! It's magical aesthetics! It's cosmic poetry!"
She then turned back to him, already wearing her usual smile and exotic sparkle in her eyes, as if the minor embarrassment had been nothing more than a stylized stumble in the spectacle of her personality.
"Besides," she added, now with a sharper, more provocative look, "if I really were a pervert... do you think I'd be drooling over a girl?"
She crossed her arms, leaned forward, and smiled like a cat who had knocked over the crystal glass on purpose.
"My taste is much more sophisticated... and dangerous."
Vergil looked at her for a second, without smiling—but his eyes seemed to hold back laughter.
"Sure," he said sarcastically. "Very comforting to know."
"Great!" replied Seris, raising her arms theatrically. "Now that we've cleared my name — which, let's face it, was only artistically tarnished — let's get back to the point: the girl is a star, and I want to see her rise."
She sat down again with a flourish, pulling the teacup that was still floating in the air, intact.
"So, how about it?" she said, taking a sip with the elegance of a noblewoman of chaos. "You allow me to teach Alice... and we make a deal."
Vergil was silent for a few moments.
The steam from Seris's teacup dissolved into the rarefied air of that place between worlds, while the wind—if it was wind—murmured like forgotten voices around the tea table suspended among the clouds.
His eyes were fixed on her. But not with judgment. Not with disapproval. Just with that uncomfortable weight of someone who knows they are being involved in something much bigger than they would like.
"A deal, huh?" He finally said, his voice low and bored. "Let me guess... you want me to hand over the girl, trust your judgment—which is dubious, by the way—and watch from the sidelines while she 'transcends'?"
"Ah, what a delightful summary!" exclaimed Seris, chuckling. "Except for the 'questionable' part, I would sign right up."
She twirled the cup between her fingers and looked at it as if she could see the reflection of the future there. Her voice dropped a tone—still light, but more careful.
"I don't want possession. I don't want control. I just want... to be there. Like someone who sees a new era dawning and has the decency not to get in the way. But, if possible... maybe guide a little. Push gently. Whisper a brilliant idea at the right moment. That... is all."
Vergil narrowed his eyes. "That's never all, your eyes don't deceive."
Seris laughed loudly, without shame.
"Okay, you got me. I'm terrible at being modest. It's stronger than me! But I swear by all the forbidden runes of the Dark Library: I won't steal her shine. I just want to see it light up."
She leaned forward, her face serious now, but without losing that spark of eccentricity embedded in her moon-colored eyes.
"I'm already old, Vergil. Even by witch standards, I've seen a lot, lost a lot, gained even more... And yet Alice makes me feel like an apprentice again. As if the world still has things that surprise me."
It was unmatched how interested that woman was in it, how she would give anything to hear a "yes" from Vergil's lips.
Vergil took a deep breath. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes now turned to the ever-changing sky.
"If I accept this deal... what do you give me in return?" Searᴄh the NovelZone.fun website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.
Seris smiled slightly. Now yes — the game was beginning.
"Ah, so we're getting to the fun part." She snapped her fingers and a small grimoire floated beside her. "I'll give you... one favor. One. From me. No restrictions. No tricks. It can be today, tomorrow, or three hundred years from now. Call, and I'll come."
Vergil raised an eyebrow. "You promise that? No hidden clauses, no riddles?"
"I'm a witch, not a demon." She blinked. "When I give my word, it's enchanted. Literally."
Silence.
He thought of Alice. He thought of his wives. Of the peace he wanted to maintain. Of the inevitable chaos that surrounded anything involving Seris.
And yet...
"All right. Let's make a soul contract." Vergil's voice cut through the air like an ancient promise being reactivated. His eyes glowed with the deep purple of possession—not just power, but certainty. A restrained, intelligent, fatal voracity.
He already knew exactly what he would ask for.
But first... he needed to take her deeper.
First, he needed her to fall for him.
"Ah... that's right. You're still a demon." Seris smiled with an almost nostalgic air—as if remembering an old song, or a scar with a story.
With a fluid gesture, almost too elegant for someone so dangerously unstable, she conjured something out of thin air: a black scroll, woven in dense, smoky shadows, with edges sealed in bright red runes.
"The Absolute Contract of the Witch Queen," she announced, as if revealing a rare piece from a cosmic board game.
As it was unrolled, golden lines began to write themselves onto the black fabric of the paper. The letters did not look like ink—they looked like living memories, burning with meaning, as if the universe itself were writing the final clause of an inevitable destiny.
Vergil watched. Motionless.
"I've heard of this contract..." he thought... "White contracts. Golden contracts. And then... the Black Contract." The rarest. The most dangerous. The only one that could not be broken — not even by the gods.
He did not smile. But a memory warmed something ancient inside him.
Raphaeline. That was when she tried to sell Ada for a cursed sword. She said he would never be worthy of even seeing the Black Contract. That he would die before seeing it...
At that time, she hated him. With every fiber of the demonic pride she once had. Today, however... she is a kitten who purrs when he comes near.
"Fufufu... If she could see this now..." He almost laughed.
But no. It wasn't time to show off yet.
Vergil reached out his hand over the table, but not to touch the contract yet. He just felt it... letting the arcane presence of the parchment brush his skin as a reminder: this was real. Definitive.
And yet...
"Before I sign..." his voice dropped an octave, carrying something denser, older than hatred. "I want you to know something, Seris."
She looked at him with an elegant arch of her eyebrow, but something in her smile hesitated for a second.
"There will be no excuses for denying what I ask. Right?" Vergil's purple eyes fixed on hers like prey in a hunting ritual. "You won't back out, right?"
The contract continued to write its clauses, impassive.
But Seris was now paying attention. Real attention.
"I am the Queen of Witches, I would never go back on my word." She smiled. A calm smile. Dominant.
"Right...