Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives-Chapter 1622: High on Blood

Villain Ch 1622. High on Blood

[System Alert: Locomotion Calibration Failing]

He stepped back into the air—wings beating once. 𝑓𝓇𝘦ℯ𝘸𝘦𝑏𝓃𝑜𝘷ℯ𝑙.𝑐𝑜𝓂

Still untouched.

Still smiling.

Vivian, slashing through the minions around the edge, turned and laughed breathlessly. "You’re not even letting it try!"

He didn’t answer.

He was circling the thing again. The way a butcher circles a pig before the final cut.

But his smile had changed.

Darker now. Deeper.

Allen wanted more.

Mol’Drath slammed the ground with a full-force hammer strike.

Allen blinked to its shoulder—didn’t even flinch at the shockwave.

He reached down and carved the blade into its collar, slow. Cruel.

Just deep enough to make it scream.

"Try harder," he whispered against its armor.

The boss spun—its frame twitching.

But Allen was already gone.

Now in front of it.

Now behind.

Now carving its flank again.

He wasn’t fighting.

He was performing.

Every slash of the blade echoed through the chamber, not just damaging—but humiliating.

Not one strike had landed on him.

Not one finger had grazed his coat.

And still—

The boss bled.

The core pulsed.

It couldn’t track him.

Couldn’t touch him.

It wasn’t a duel anymore.

It was a slaughter.

And Allen?

Allen was singing with it.

Laughing under his breath, low and manic, like something buried inside him had finally been allowed to come out and play.

The last raid?

Pathetic.

Sloppy.

Predictable strategy.

No excitement.

But this— This was release.

Allen blurred behind Mol’Drath again, the blade plunging into its lower back—cutting upward through hot wires and mana-choked plating.

He twisted once. Heard something snap.

Then he leaned in close—face inches from the shell.

"You’re going to die confused," he whispered.

"You’ll never understand how something so small broke you."

And then he kicked off again—airborne—hovering above the cracked glass.

The room pulsed red.

Mol’Drath fell to one knee, venting fire from its chest, arms twitching as it tried to find him again.

[Warning: Target Movement Pattern Cannot Be Logged]

[Emergency Targeting Override – FAILED]

And Allen hovered there above the chaos, the devil in wings and blood, spinning his blade once.

Still untouched.

Still smiling.

The final dance wasn’t over.

But Mol’Drath?

It was already broken.

The Forged Tyrant stood on one knee, its massive hammer dragging uselessly behind it, plates twisted from too many impacts, vents hissing weakly. Its glowing eyes flickered—erratic, desperate. The proud guardian of the crucible was now nothing more than a plaything.

Allen floated down slowly, boots tapping the cracked glass.

The blade in his hand pulsed. It wasn’t just a weapon now—it was hungry.

And he fed it.

With cruelty.

With showmanship.

He circled the boss, dragging the blade’s edge along the floor. It screeched, leaving a long, glowing line of friction and heat behind him.

Mol’Drath twitched.

Allen tilted his head. "Oh? Still trying?"

He dashed forward—not in a straight line. Around. Behind. Above. A blink of motion, then another. Each step made the boss flinch, confused by his speed.

He slashed once—deep into the back of its knee. Sparks sprayed.

Across its side, carving another molten vent open.

Then again—this time a downward stab straight into its shoulder.

Every hit had no rhythm.

No pattern.

Just punishment.

[System Error – Damage Pattern Unrecognized]

[Unable to counter]

Allen didn’t stop.

He leapt onto its back again, dragging the blade slowly across the neck seam. Smoke hissed, and liquid fire spilled down the boss’s spine.

It tried to rise.

Allen stabbed it in the side of the head.

Not to kill.

To mock.

The blade pierced the ear plate and stopped.

He leaned in, forehead to the broken helm.

"I expected more."

Mol’Drath groaned like something with a soul.

And Allen laughed—loud, unhinged, blissful.

He yanked the blade out in a sideways arc, twisting his body mid-air with it, and kicked off the head. His wings flared—then folded as he dove down like a spear.

The final hit was not clean.

It was a slam, blade-first, straight into the exposed chest core.

The glass beneath Mol’Drath shattered.

The core exploded—not in flame, but in light, in code, in corrupted mana.

It screamed—an echo of thousands of broken systems, caught in a glitch loop as its death triggered more damage than it was supposed to.

[System Alert – Error Detected]

[Boss Death Registered – Incomplete Animation Sequence]

[Death State Glitched – Error Code: #FORGED_NULL.87]

[Memory Core Failed]

[Force Cleanup Initiated]

Then—

[Boss Defeated – Mol’Drath, the Forged Tyrant]

[Combat Complete – Loot Dispensed]

[You received Pale Heart Core 21 ea and Obsidian Fracture Crystal x3 (Rare)]

[EXP Distributed – Bonus: 3.2x Multiplier]

[Achievement Unlocked: Tyrantbreaker]

Allen lowered his blade, breathing shallow and slow.

Blood—not his—dripped down his arm, hot and thick.

His wings folded back.

He stared at the loot notifications blinking across his vision.

The others landed behind him, watching the screens pop up with their rewards.

Alice blinked first. "Definitely still bugged."

Bella adjusted her gloves, lips curling. "But it’s fine. We get more because of it."

Zoe kicked the glass under her boot. "That wasn’t even a boss fight. That was a ritual."

Jane giggled. "So... we call it foreplay now?"

Allen’s gaze remained locked on the core fragments still glowing faintly where the body collapsed.

Then he raised his hand.

No words.

Just intent.

"Contract!"

[Do you wish to bind this soul to your service?]

"Yes," Allen said, voice low.

The shadows swirled.

Crimson runes coiled around the boss’s shattered frame.

The broken parts reformed—not cleanly, not smoothly, but like a puppet pieced together with violence and purpose.

Mol’Drath’s eyes reignited—faint, obedient.

[Mol’Drath has been bound as your servant.]

Allen stood still, watching it settle into the shadows behind him like a warhound kneeling at its master’s side.

But the glint in his eyes?

Didn’t change.

He was still in that state.

Still high on blood and ruin.

Just licked a drop of blood off his knuckle.

Jane lifted a hand, slowly. "Okay... so... who’s the winner?"

Shea exhaled, wings twitching. "We completely forgot about it."

Alice pouted. "No fair. I wanted that first dance."

Bella rolled her eyes. "Too late. He’s dancing with madness now."