My Wives Are Seven Beautiful Demonesses-Chapter 146 - No. Artemis’s Betrayal (1)

[Location: New York, USA]

"...your growth rate," Ares continued, voice steady now, stripped of mirth, "on the one hand, has been mind-blowing. From struggling against my avatar to standing in front of me—not flinching, not posturing—in such a short span of time."

His eyes narrowed further.

"That kind of acceleration doesn’t come from training alone."

The words hung heavy.

I said nothing.

Not because I didn’t have an answer—but because silence, here, was the correct response.

Ares watched me for several seconds. Then he laughed again—softly this time, without joy.

"Relax. I’m not asking for your secrets. Everyone worth killing has them."

Zeraphira shifted in the air, halberd lowering a fraction but not dispersing. Carmilla remained upright, blood authority coiled but restrained. Ezravia hovered close, her envy mana unstable, eyes darting between me and Ares as if waiting for a signal.

Eris pressed closer to my side.

I rested a hand on her head.

Ares noticed.

His gaze flicked—just once—to her. Then away.

"Orders stand," he said calmly. "But orders can be... interpreted."

Zeraphira’s eyes sharpened. "Meaning?"

Ares exhaled slowly, crimson eyes lifting toward the sky—toward something far above the clouds, beyond the veil of mortal sight.

"Meaning Zeus wants the child," he said. "Alive. Unharmed. Unbroken. Preferably cooperative."

He looked back at me.

"Not you."

The implication landed hard.

Selene sucked in a sharp breath, excitement fading into something wary. "Ooooh... that’s not good."

Gabriel clasped her hands together nervously. "M–Mr. Ares, sir... does that mean... um... that something bad will happen?"

Ares glanced at her.

Then—surprisingly—his tone softened.

"Depends," he said. "On how stubborn everyone involved decides to be."

Carmilla’s lips curved, cold and precise. "Olympus has no jurisdiction over what belongs to him."

"Ownership," Ares corrected mildly, "is a mortal concept."

"And custody," I said quietly, "is not."

The war god looked at me again.

For a long moment, the street was silent except for distant sirens and the crackle of damaged streetlights trying—and failing—to reboot.

Then Ares smiled faintly.

"Ah. So you do negotiate."

"I draw lines," I replied. "You’re standing on one."

Ares tilted his head, studying me with renewed interest. "You realise this puts you on a collision course with Zeus himself."

"I’m aware," I said.

That was not bravado.

That was an acknowledgement.

Something flickered behind Ares’ eyes.

Respect? No.

He said he volunteered for this... that means Eris is secondary for him.

I am the target here.

That explains the stupid grin on his face now.

"You’re being an obstacle between me and my ’job’, that means I’ve the license to deal with this ’obstacle’ however I see fit. Death is the only natural course of things."

Ares finished the sentence calmly.

Not threateningly.

As if he were explaining weather patterns.

Death is rain. War is wind. Obstacles erode.

That simple.

The street felt smaller.

Not because of pressure—but because every possible future I could see narrowed into converging lines, all pointing toward conflict. Not now. Not explosively.

But inevitably.

I breathed in once.

Slow.

Controlled.

Then I stepped forward.

Just one pace.

Because I didn’t get to step forward, as Ares’ fist was already buried into my stomach.

Bile rushed up my throat.

The impact wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t explosive.

It was perfect.

Ares’ fist had slipped past every instinct, every reflex, every precognitive whisper my Observation Grid tried to scream at me—because it wasn’t thrown with killing intent.

It was thrown with certainty.

The kind of strike that assumed the world would make space for it.

My feet left the ground.

For a fraction of a second, the city inverted—sky beneath me, asphalt above—then my back slammed into the street hard enough that the pavement caved inward like wet clay. Shock rippled through my organs, silver reinforcement screaming as Armament Core barely held my body together.

Air fled my lungs in a soundless gasp.

Pain followed.

Not sharp.

Not blinding.

Dense. Heavy. Like my insides had been rearranged by someone who knew exactly where everything went.

A few muffled shouts echo, but before I could focus.

BANG!

The same fist was already there when my vision snapped back into focus.

Not swinging.

Waiting.

Ares’ knuckles pressed into my sternum, pinning me to the cratered asphalt like a paperweight on a document already signed.

I coughed.

Blood spattered across his glove.

Not a lot.

Just enough to be insulting.

"Dominic!" Zeraphira’s voice ripped through the street, raw and sharp.

I felt her move—felt the heat spike, the pressure of her intent—but she never reached me.

Ares didn’t look away from my face.

He shifted his weight.

That was all.

The street screamed again.

Not metaphorically this time.

The halberd hit an invisible wall mid-swing, its edge shrieking as sparks of compressed war intent tore along the blade. Zeraphira was thrown sideways like a missile, carving a trench through a line of parked cars before slamming into a bus shelter hard enough to fold steel.

"Z–Zeraphira!" Gabriel cried, wings flaring helplessly.

Carmilla moved.

The world stuttered.

Ares’ boot stamped down.

CRACK.

Carmilla’s shadow—half-phased, half-asserted—shattered like glass. She reappeared ten meters away, boots skidding across the pavement, crimson eyes wide for the first time since the clash began.

Ezravia raised her hands, mana spiralling violently, voice tight and fast. "Dominic, give the word—!"

"Don’t," I rasped.

The sound scraped out of my throat like broken glass.

Ezravia froze.

Ares tilted his head slightly, eyes never leaving mine. "Still giving orders. Admirable."

He leaned closer.

The pressure intensified—not crushing, not killing—but intimate like he was reminding my body who owned the concept of violence in this space.

"Here’s the part you’re missing," Ares continued calmly. "Or you’ve already figured it out, huh~"

His fist pressed in another inch.

Something inside me tore.

Silver reinforcement flared desperately, knitting muscle and bone faster than they could fail—but every repair screamed at me, burning spiritual energy I couldn’t afford to waste.

Ares said softly. "She’s the excuse."

My Observation Grid spasmed.

Not with futures.

With realisation.

"You," Ares finished, eyes burning now, fully awake, "I wanted to get my hands on you."

Ares’ fist pressed in another fraction.

Not enough to shatter bone.

Enough to make a point.

"You think killing an avatar or killing a champion of a god is without consequences," he continued quietly, voice close now, intimate in the worst way, "pretty stupid of you to assume I would let you go."

My vision swam.

Not from pain alone—but from the sudden, brutal clarity snapping into place.

He wasn’t here because of Eris.

Not primarily.

She was leverage. Pretext. A clean justification Zeus could sign off on without igniting a full-scale inter-pantheon incident.

I was the anomaly.

The mistake.

The thing that wasn’t supposed to still exist.

Ares leaned closer, his shadow swallowing my face.

"You don’t feel like a demon," he said. "You don’t feel like an angel. And you definitely don’t feel like a mortal."

His eyes burned.

"You feel like unfinished business."

I swallowed blood.

My mind raced—not panicked, not frantic—but calculating, grasping at the narrowing windows of possibility my Observation Grid could still tease out through the pain.

Direct confrontation?

Impossible.

Even with Conqueror’s Will, even with Carmilla and Zeraphira backing me, this wasn’t a battle I could win without irreversible escalation.

And escalation here meant... war.

Not a fight.

A war that would put Eris directly in Zeus’ line of sight.

No.

I couldn’t allow that.

"Dominic!" Selene shouted, voice stripped of its usual cheer, panic breaking through the otaku façade. "This is bad! Like—really bad! You’re getting bodied by a final boss way above your level!"

"Selene," Zeraphira snarled from the wreckage, trying to force herself upright, armour still knitting, "stay back—!"

Ares didn’t even glance at them.

He didn’t need to.

He already owned the field.

"Let’s simplify this," he said to me. "You hand over the child. I walk away. Olympus gets what it wants. And you die, that’s it~"

Ares’ words settled like dust after a collapse.

Quiet.

Final.

"You die."

Not might. Not eventually.

A statement of process.

I exhaled slowly through bloodied teeth.

Around us, the street burned in pockets—cars smoking, alarms wailing, magic residue crawling over concrete like oil slicks. Civilians were gone, memories erased, space isolated. This wasn’t New York anymore.

It was a sanctioned execution site.

My Observation Grid throbbed painfully, threads of causality fraying, futures overlapping only to snap shut the moment they drifted toward victory. Every path where I fought directly ended the same way.

With Eris exposed.

With Olympus alerted.

With war.

And that was unacceptable.

Ares watched my eyes move, watched the calculation happen. His grin returned—not wide, not playful—but sharp.

"There it is," he murmured. "That look. The moment you realise the board isn’t yours."

His fist eased back a fraction.

Not mercy.

Permission to speak.

"Don’t," Zeraphira rasped from the cratered wreckage, trying to rise again, wings trembling. "Dominic—don’t listen to him."

Carmilla had already moved closer despite the blood seeping down her temple, crimson authority coiling tighter, colder. "Say the word," she said softly. "I will burn my blood for more power, if I must."

Ezravia’s envy mana was vibrating now, unstable, eyes wide and bright with barely-contained madness. Ravvy was shaking behind me, clutching my coat like a lifeline. Valeria’s playful bravado was gone entirely, replaced by naked fury. Selene looked terrified and furious in equal measure, knuckles white around her staff.

Gabriel hovered frozen mid-air where Ares had left her, eyes wide and wet, unable to move, unable to help.

Eris...

Eris was silent.

Too silent.

I turned my head slightly, just enough to see her.

Golden eyes locked on Ares.

Not frightened.

Not crying.

Studying.

Like she was trying to understand something important.

That terrified me more than anything else.

I closed my eyes for half a second.

Then I spoke.

"No."

Ares blinked.

Again.

For the second time today.

Not because I refused the deal.

Because I refused it after understanding it.

"You misunderstand," I continued hoarsely. "You don’t get the child."

Ares’ eyes narrowed. "Then you die."

"Maybe," I said. "But not like this."

The pressure spiked instantly, his fist slamming back into my chest, cracking ribs despite the silver reinforcement screaming in protest. Pain lanced white-hot through my torso, vision tunnelling.

But I didn’t scream.

I forced my eyes open and met his gaze.

"Because if you kill me here," I continued through blood, "you don’t get a clean outcome."

Ares’ smile faded completely.

"Explain," he said flatly.

"You’re War," I said. "You don’t just count bodies. You count consequences."

Silence.

Not from him. 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

From the world.

Even the crackling fires seemed to hush.

"If I die," I went on, "every being here reacts. Carmilla will retaliate. Zeraphira will escalate. Ezravia, Valeria and Ravvy will lose control. Selene will do something stupid and brilliant. With Gabriel here, heaven will be dragged into this and Eris..."

I swallowed.

"...Eris will remember."

Ares’ fist paused.

Just for a fraction of a second.

"Memories shape gods," I said quietly. "You know that better than anyone. Zeus wants her cooperative. Wants her stable. Wants her unbroken."

I met his eyes fully now.

"You kill me in front of her, and you don’t get that outcome."

Ares studied my face.

Not searching for weakness.

Searching for truth.

"You’re betting a lot," he said slowly, "on a child’s attachment."

"I’m betting on your restraint," I replied. "You didn’t come here to start a pantheon war. You came to assess a variable."

His jaw tightened.

"And you’ve assessed me," I continued. "You know I’m not bluffing. You know, killing me here creates more conflict than it resolves."

The fog around his boots thinned.

Not vanished.

Thinned.

Behind him, Carmilla felt it. Zeraphira felt it. Even Ezravia stilled, sensing the shift.

Ares exhaled through his nose.

"...You’re irritating," he said. "Do you know that?"

"I’ve been told."

A corner of his mouth twitched despite himself.

***

Stone me, I can take it!

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