Into the Apocalypse: Saving My Favorite Villain-Chapter 95: Rosalia Uses That Power Again

Cassel — POV

When I saw Cassel use his powers, the very first thought that crossed my mind was not fear.

It was not a shock.

It was not even relief.

It was how incredibly handsome he was.

The air itself seemed to bend around him as he moved, power surging through his body like a living thing. His presence dominated the battlefield—not through noise or arrogance, but through absolute certainty. Every movement was precise. Every strike was decisive. There was no hesitation in him, no wasted motion, no doubt.

Then came the second thought.

How overwhelmingly strong he was.

It was not the kind of strength that relied solely on brute force. It was refined. Controlled. Terrifyingly calm. The kind of strength that came from knowing exactly how much destruction one could cause—and choosing when to unleash it.

And then the third thought followed naturally, inevitably. 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

Just as expected of my beloved villain.

The monster before him barely had time to react. One moment it was roaring, writhing, its grotesque form spreading corruption through the ground beneath it—and the next, it was nothing more than a collapsing mass of flesh and dust, obliterated by a single, merciless blow.

I was completely captivated.

Not just by his power, but by him.

By the way he stood tall and unyielding amid the chaos. By the straight line of his back, the confidence in his stance, the cold clarity in his eyes. By how the world seemed smaller in his presence, as though everything else existed only to be judged and discarded by his will.

Everything about him reminded me, again and again, why I had fallen in love with him in the first place.

Cassel.

A fictional character.

A villain written on paper, born from ink and imagination.

And yet—now standing right in front of me, breathing, bleeding, alive.

Made of flesh and blood.

The realization sent a strange warmth spreading through my chest.

I smiled faintly, almost unconsciously.

When I looked back on my entire life—on everything I had endured, everything I had swallowed and survived—I realized something with startling clarity.

Reading that novel.

Being transported into this world.

Meeting him.

That was the happiest thing that had ever happened to me.

The only thing I could sincerely thank God for.

If my entire previous life had been nothing more than a price to be paid—if all that pain, loneliness, and exhaustion existed solely to grant me even a single day like this—then it had been worth it.

A day where I could stand beside my beloved villain.

Live next to him.

Love him.

Become his lover.

If that was the reward waiting at the end of my suffering, then everything before it was insignificant.

It was worth every tear.

Every wound.

It was worth even dying once.

As soon as Cassel dispatched the monster, the crushing pressure on my chest relaxed.

A heavy silence settled over the battle-scarred landscape, where echoes of destruction had suddenly ceased.

I released a breath I had been holding without noticing.

A wave of relief swept over me.

However, this did not last.

Because that is when I saw it.

A human body remained static on the floor, half-hidden in wreckage with blood soaked all over it.

My heartbeat skipped wildly.

Cassel’s intervention couldn’t have killed him... right?

I compelled myself to walk, though fear lodged in my very belly with each step.

Blood was all over the room

It drenched the earth beneath the man, clung to his skin, streaked his limbs.

His clothes hung in tatters, hardly clinging to his frame.

His skin, bare and pink and flushed with life, marred by wounds, by black veins, by corruption that bulged abnormally beneath.

His face.

I could not even identify his facial traits.

Blood, grime, and dried black matter obscured everything.

I ended up kneeling beside him without thinking.

The man’s chest rose and fell—not much.

He was alive.

Generally unaware.

His eyelids fluttered weakly, as if the very act of opening his eyes took too much effort. His lips trembled, struggling to form words as they moved without making a sound.

I leaned in closer, with my breath catching in my throat.

Then, finally, I heard him.

A croaky voice.

Delicate

Yet stubbornly alive.

Every word scraped against his throat like broken glass.

As soon as he uttered those words, I knew.

Matthew.

The confirmation hit me harder than any physical blow.

And suddenly, tears clouded my eyesight.

Not for him.

For myself.

To my own family.

Because I remembered.

I remembered whispering names into the darkness.

Calling out to my mother.

To my siblings.

Begging--wishing--that someone would listen to me when death was right in front of me.

Matthew was doing the same.

Calling for his family.

For his mom.

For his father.

With names spoken in love and longing, in desperate devotion.

Hope hung onto his voice like a lifeline.

Hope that they would answer.

Hope that they would come.

To hope for someone to take his hand and tell him he wasn’t alone.

My chest hurt so badly I thought it would split wide open.

"Matthew," I urged, my voice trembling but loud enough to pierce through his receding awareness.

"You have to live. You have to survive."

I planted my palm firmly against his chest, pressing it right over his heart.

His eyes finally opened.

And he fixed me with a direct stare.

"Live,"

I went on, forcing strength into my voice.

"Live and take your revenge. Live happily. Gain everything you have ever wished for."

I didn’t notice the dark glint that flickered in his eyes with my words.

Didn’t notice the way something sharp and dangerous lurked beneath his exhaustion.

My own eyes were overflowing with tears.

But despite this blur, I could see them clearly.

Matthew’s eyes were red.

Red.

Those eyes.

What made people afraid of him?

The basis for this labeling is through their eyes.

Those eyes, mixed with the decay seeping into his skin, had already doomed him before he did anything to warrant a punishment.

Now that I had powers of healing—

I couldn’t just save him.

I had to purify him.

Even if it hurts.

Even if it meant destroying me.

This time, it appeared he hadn’t remained in the tree for very long.

The rot hadn’t consumed him completely.

Wounds on his skin were terrible but not as brutal or irreversible as they could have been.

There was still time.

"If I had poured more of my powers into him---"

If I had perseverance for a bit longer—

His body could go back to its natural form.

Then he could live among humans.

Without fear.

Without being hunted.

Without being rejected.

He would be fine.

He would find a family in which he would be loved.

But this time, I would make sure of it.

Matthew would have a happy life this time.

A happy ending.

Pain burst through me.

It was intolerable.

Absolutely intolerable.