Reincarnated in a novel: I am the villain!-Chapter 281: Altar of the Heavenly Demon

The sound of crumbling stone echoed behind them, sealing the tunnel and Isabelle along with it.

Damien didn’t stop running. He couldn’t.

But with every step his boots pounded against the rusted metal floor of the tunnel, a voice in his head screamed.

Weak.

It wasn’t the voice of the System or a demon. It was his own.

’So what if I reached 7th order, in face of true powerhouses I can still only run!’

’Right now the only way I can save everyone is if I end using all my dp for temporary boost, but if the heavenly demon interferes, even that is for nothing’

Thinking of this, he vaulted over a steam pipe, dragging the wheezing Elian Vance behind him.

’I swore to take everything. To hoard my people like treasure. And yet, here I am, running away while my maid fights an army for me.’

His grip on the Pantheon Sword tightened until his leather gloves creaked.

In the original novel, he had despised the protagonists who relied on the "Power of Friendship" to survive while sacrificing side characters.

He had vowed to be different. He had vowed to be the one who stood in front.

But the Abyss didn’t care about vows. The gap between the 7th and 8th Order was an absolute wall of reality that no amount of cleverness could dismantle in seconds.

’I need more power,’ Damien thought, his eyes burning with a cold, golden fury behind his mask.

’I need to break the ceiling. I need to reach the 8th Order. Only then can I stop running.’

"Master... wait..." Elian gasped, stumbling. "The map... Vesper said... instructions."

Damien halted for a split second, sheltered by a curve in the tunnel. He pulled the crumpled, blood-stained map Vesper had given him from his coat.

He unfolded it. Inside the parchment, wrapped in a cloth soaked in preservation runes, was a stone.

Only this time it wasn’t the Sanguine Heart of before, rather it was a Blood-Key. A jagged, crimson crystal that pulsed like a dying heart.

Next to it were scrawled instructions on the map: ’Insert the Key. Channel the Blood. The door will open.’

Damien scanned the diagrams. They depicted the Altar of Iron. It was a massive, industrial conduit designed to punch a hole through the dimensional layers of the Abyss.

"This isn’t a Vane design," Damien realized, his eyes narrowing as he analyzed the runic geometry.

He looked at the coordinates.

"Why would the Iron-Blood Clan build a teleporter this deep in their own territory?" Damien muttered.

"To bring in supplies? No. Thraka and his people are more than strong enough to just carry them."

His mind flashed back to the Red Aura surrounding the Orcs. To the name Azazel.

A cold realization hit him.

"This wasn’t built for supplies," Damien whispered.

"Master?" Elian asked.

"It’s a Summoning Pad," Damien deduced, a chill running down his spine.

"Thraka isn’t trying to conquer Layer 4 with just Orcs. He built this Altar to summon the Heavenly Demon Lord or at least an Avatar of him, directly into the heart of the Vane territory."

Realising this, he knew if he hadn’t intervened, Thraka would have activated this eventually.

And if Azazel stepped foot on Layer 4, the entire Abyss ecosystem would collapse, the so called civil war would instantly end

"We have to hijack it," Damien snapped the map shut.

"If my guess is correct, using this blood key as a medium, we can use it to summon Duke Vane instead of Azazel, if that’s true, then we need to hurry."

He grabbed Elian. "Move."

They sprinted deeper.

The tunnel began to change. The rusted pipes gave way to polished obsidian and chrome.

CLICK.

Damien’s [Sensory Intent] screamed.

"Down!"

He tackled Elian.

ZZZTT!

A laser grid of concentrated red mana swept over their heads, slicing the air where they had been standing.

"traps!" Damien hissed.

He stood up and slashed.

[Will Art: Severance.]

The invisible blade of his Will cut through the mana emitters hidden in the walls. The grid flickered and died.

They ran through a gauntlet.

Crushing pistons slammed down from the ceiling. Damien continuously used [Shadow Art: Flash Step] to blink through the gaps.

Turrets popped out of the walls, firing condensed magma bullets. Damien deflected them with the Pantheon Sword, his movements a blur of white light.

He didn’t slow down, as right now he couldn’t. Every second he wasted was a second Isabelle was bleeding.

Finally, they burst through a set of heavy blast doors.

They entered a massive, domed chamber.

It was the heart of the mountain. In the center, suspended over a pit of churning lava, was a massive circular platform made of black iron and inscribed with glowing red circuits.

The Altar of Iron.

"There!" Elian pointed to a console on the far side of the platform.

Damien sprinted across the bridge. He reached the console. It was a complex array of levers and crystal interfaces.

He slammed the Blood-Key into the central slot.

HUMMMMM.

The Altar groaned to life. Red light flooded the chamber. The circuits began to spin.

"I need to change the frequency," Damien muttered, his hands flying across the controls. "Shift the target from the Void to the Vane Bloodline..."

Fortunately, he had spent some time with hephaestus, and his new soul blue print ability had a side effect of helping him understand gadgets.

In a trance he focused, sweating.

Just a little more. Just connect to the Duke, is what he whispered to himself

THUD.

The sound was heavy

It came from the entrance of the chamber behind them.

The air pressure in the room suddenly spiked, becoming heavy enough to crack the floor tiles.

Damien froze. His hand hovered over the final lever.

"That’s enough, rat."

The voice was deep, amused, and terrifying.

Damien turned around slowly.

Standing at the entrance of the chamber was Emperor Thraka.

The 8th Order Warlord didn’t look tired. His Abyss Steel skin was unblemished. His massive axe rested casually on his shoulder.

But it was what he held in his other hand that made Damien’s blood turn to ice.

Thraka’s massive hand was clenched around two figures.

Captain Vesper was limp, his body broken, his transformation forcibly reverted.

And Isabelle.

She was unconscious. Her armor was shattered. Blood coated her face, and her demon horns were cracked. She dangled from the Emperor’s grip like a broken doll.

Thraka smiled, a cruel, metallic expression.

He lifted Isabelle up, dangling her over the lava pit.

"You run fast, ant," Thraka rumbled. "But you forgot your luggage."

He squeezed Isabelle slightly, eliciting a faint, pained gasp from her unconscious lips.

"Step away from the console," Thraka ordered. "Or she dies."