Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives

Chapter 1689: Ghosts That Beg For Peace

Villain Ch 1689. Ghosts That Beg For Peace

The next corridor didn’t offer time to think. Or breathe.

The moment their boots hit the cracked marble, the shadows flared—like a silent alarm triggered the moment Allen’s presence registered. From all sides, they came. More twisted creations in paladin armor, some half-melted into mechanical constructs. Some still had faces. Human faces. Eyes hidden behind fractured visors, mouths that still formed words even through corrupted voice lines.

“Justice…!”

“Restore balance…!”

“Release us…!”

Allen moved first. His blade flashed like falling night, silent and absolute. No hesitation. No pause. The first wave of monsters didn’t even scream as their bodies hit the ground in elegant, symmetrical halves.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it?

They didn’t scream when they died.

They screamed before.

“I didn’t ask for this!”

“Let me die, not be used!”

“Please—please not another battle—”

Larissa’s claws ripped through two attackers, blood misting her shoulders like war paint. She didn’t blink. But her frown lingered.

Zoe, tentacles slick with holy oil and blood, flicked a spear through a knight’s throat cleanly. “I hate this place.”

The enemies didn’t let up. Another horde pushed through, a flood of corrupted silver and cracked gold. Allen stepped in front. His foot planted, and he teleported in a blink.

’Shadow Step.’

He reappeared behind a knight, then another, carving through two with one upward strike. The corridor bathed in flickering, erratic light—like the dungeon itself was faltering under the burden of its guilt.

Vivian cracked her whip from the upper rail. The enchanted cord lashed out, arcing with dark magic before wrapping around three enemies in one brutal sweep. Their armored bodies slammed together mid-lunge, crushed and dragged into the wall with a sickening crunch.

“This is… weirdly boring,” she said, reeling the whip back with a flick of her wrist. “Like beating up cosplay ghosts at a discount convention.”

“Ghosts that beg for peace,” Shea muttered, her voice low, almost inaudible under the buzz of divine static.

Allen didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

Because every single one of these monsters— had once believed in something.

Maybe in a god. A kingdom. A cause.

Maybe in someone who told them this was righteous.

And now they screamed in madness for release, realizing too late they were just weapons that had been stored and forgotten.

He moved again.

Blades spoke instead of words.

Another mob.

More blood.

More light fading.

More cries.

“End it—!”

“Don’t let me return—!”

“Let me rest… just once—”

It threw off the rhythm. Not the fight—no, mechanically, they were efficient.

Too efficient.

The girls killed with ease.

The enemies weren’t weak, but they weren’t trying to live either. Just to end.

And that drained something.

By the time the last of the knights fell—his blade still pointed forward, as if reaching for a war long passed—no one cheered.

No item pickup chimes.

No fanfare.

Just silence and ambient dungeon hum.

Jane sighed loudly and flopped down onto a nearby chunk of broken pew. “Oh Gods! This place is so depressed.”

Allen wiped his face, or tried to—his glove came away stained with more blood than it had any right to.

“I feel like I need a beach episode after this,” Jane muttered. Then she perked up. “Hey, hey, Allen! Can you summon the three-headed dragon?”

Allen blinked. “Why would I—?”

“Duh. So we can throw a party! Look at this place! It’s huge. Good acoustics. And there’s like, an altar for cake setup.”

“You want to throw a party… here?” Zoe asked slowly, one eyebrow rising.

Jane nodded with full confidence. “It’ll cheer up the vibe. You know. Champagne. Dancing. Maybe sacrifice a cursed ring or two. What? Don’t look at me like that. The knights would’ve wanted it.”

“The knights wanted peace,” Allen deadpanned.

“Exactly! And what’s more peaceful than cupcakes and bad decisions?”

Allen sighed and shook his head. “The dragon’s only summonable for tower guard or during event. Not dungeons.”

Jane gasped. “Ugh! Right. How could I forget that?!”

Bella raised her hand excitedly. “Wait! What about Kafra? Can we summon her? In her duck costume! She always shows up in bugged dungeons!”

Alice snorted. “With fireworks. Don’t forget the fireworks.”

Allen cringed. “Uh… no? There’s nothing wrong with this dungeon. No bugs. No glitches. So unless the altar suddenly throws me into the ceiling, I don’t think she’s showing up.”

“Booo,” Jane whined.

Also—he had to say it. “She’s a game staff. Why do you all talk like she’s my personal summon?”

Bella shrugged. “Because you’re the Devil Emperor?”

“That’s not how debugging works,” Allen muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“She did teleport us after the Glass Maw bug,” Larissa added casually, licking a crimson trail off her wrist like it was jam.

“Once,” Allen groaned.

“Did she blush?” Jane asked innocently.

“She had feathers for ears. I don’t know.”

“You noticed her ears,” Larissa hummed.

He paused. Cursed. “I walked into that.”

“Just like you walked into this blood-drenched altar!” Jane stood, motioning around at the destruction. “Seriously. If we’re not doing parties, we should at least throw a memorial rave.”

“Can we not,” Allen grunted, wiping his blade and shaking gore off his coat.

But despite the jokes, he could feel it.

The silence after the storm.

And that heavy, lingering aftertaste of regret.

The enemies had come in force. They had died clean. But the words they left behind clung to Allen’s skin more than the blood.

He hadn’t known them.

But he understood them.

Loyalty twisted. Trust broken. Identity turned into programming.

Larissa’s hand brushed against his as she passed. She didn’t say anything. Just that little tap. It was enough.

It reminded him he had walked away.

And he hadn’t done it alone.

“Hey,” Jane said suddenly, glancing at the far end of the sanctum. “Did the altar just glow?”

Zoe squinted. “Yeah. You touched it earlier, right?”

Allen turned. A soft pulse. White light. Another vision incoming.

He braced.

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