Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives - Chapter 1543

Chapter 1543: Neck Pal
Villain Ch 1543. Neck Pal

The middle head snapped at him—but Allen twisted mid-dive, carving a brutal gash across the dragon’s cheek before flipping under its jaw.

The dragon’s blood sprayed into the air, thick, hot, and sizzling where it touched Allen’s armor.

The golden-eyed head hissed furiously.

“Enough games!”

The derpy head wagged its tongue out and said, “Heyyy! That tickled!”

Allen wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or scream.

Instead, he snapped his wings open, catching the turbulent air just in time to bank hard right as Azdraeth whipped around, a hurricane of force chasing behind his massive, twisting body.

Allen gasped, feeling the mana in his veins strain under the pressure.

Every bone, every muscle in his body screamed—but the fire in his chest refused to die out.

He still wasn’t done.

“Come on!” Allen roared, circling higher.

“You want to test me? Then stop holding back!”

The golden head snarled. The middle head growled approval. The derpy head tried and failed to blow a raspberry.

Then Azdraeth’s massive body spun, faster than something that size should ever be able to, and a cyclone of abyssal wind erupted outward.

Allen folded his wings around himself instinctively—but it wasn’t enough.

The force slammed into him, sending him hurtling backward through the air like a broken arrow.

He crashed into a floating shard of broken stone mid-air, gasping as the impact rattled every bone in his body.

“Ugh… remind me to kill the idiot head first…” Allen wheezed, pushing off the stone and flapping hard to stabilize.

From below, he heard Jane shouting. “Allen, you good?!”

“Peachy!” he shouted back. “Just getting lightly murdered!”

He saw the girls below still dealing with minions, but they had mostly thinned out. Zoe’s tsunamis slammed enemies into pillars, Vivian’s whip had practically turned into a blender, and Larissa was summoning blood spears faster than humanly possible.

They were holding out.

Now it was on him.

Allen wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and narrowed his eyes on Azdraeth, who hovered regally above the throne, the massive black wings flaring behind him like a storm god.

He didn’t have much time left on Demonic Form.

And this dragon wasn’t going to beat himself.

Allen grinned, savage and wild.

“Alright,” he muttered under his breath. “Let’s finish this dance.”

The throne would be his.

Even if he had to tear it from a three-headed dragon’s laughing, snarling, dignified jaws.

Allen shot forward like a living bullet, wings carving through the thick, ash-heavy air. Every muscle in his body screamed from overuse, his sword vibrating with the overload of abyssal energy packed into the blade.

Azdraeth’s three heads tracked him in unison—golden, red, and derpy yellow—all tensing, prepared to tear him apart mid-flight.

Too slow.

Allen juked left at the last second, baiting the golden head into lunging forward with snapping jaws—only to teleport mid-spin with [Shadow Step], appearing right above the middle, red-eyed head.

With a snarl, he raised his sword high.

The middle head reacted fast, twisting to intercept—but not fast enough.

Allen slammed his blade down into the joint between the base of the dragon’s skull and its neck.

The impact shook the entire room.

A deafening, vibrating crack split the air as his blade tore halfway through the armored scales.

The middle head let out a guttural, furious roar that shattered several floating stone shards around them from the sheer force of it.

The derpy head immediately screeched,

“Middie! Nooo! He poked you in the neck!”

Allen barely yanked his blade free before a hurricane of abyssal energy exploded outward from Azdraeth’s body, knocking him backward.

He flipped mid-air, grunting from the effort, and recovered just enough to halt his crash with a savage flap of his wings. His lungs burned. His body ached.

[Demonic Form Duration Remaining: 0:45]

He clicked his tongue.

Time was running out.

The golden head bellowed, voice shaking the very stones of the throne chamber.

“ENOUGH.”

The dragon king dove at him with terrifying speed, all three heads moving in brutal, unpredictable patterns—like trying to dodge three thunderstorms at once.

Allen gritted his teeth and dove into the assault.

Their battle turned savage.

Azdraeth’s claws slashed through the air like guillotines, each blow narrowly missing Allen’s body as he ducked, rolled, spun. His sword deflected one, two strikes—but the sheer force behind each clash numbed his arms through the gauntlets.

A tail whip came out of nowhere.

Allen twisted but caught it partially, the impact hurling him into a floating boulder with bone-crunching force.

The taste of blood filled his mouth. His vision flickered for a moment.

He forced himself to his feet, wings trembling but steady.

“Bastard,” he muttered, wiping blood off his lips.

From the ground, he kicked up into flight again, vertical burst straight toward the dragon’s exposed side.

Allen poured the last reserves of his mana into himself—body crackling with overclocked energy.

The red-eyed middle head lunged, jaws wide.

Allen twisted.

He dodged the bite by inches, flying so close that the dragon’s fangs brushed the tips of his boots.

He slammed his blade into the damaged joint again with all his might.

The sword sank deep.

The middle head jerked, roared in fury—then with a horrible, echoing sound—the entire middle neck snapped.

The middle head collapsed, falling limply mid-air, abyssal blood geysering from the severed muscles.

[Critical Strike!]

[Middle Head Disabled!]

The derpy yellow head shrieked.

“Middie!!! NOOOO! My buddy! My bro! My—uhhh… neck pal!”

The golden head roared so loud the entire floor fractured, massive rifts cracking the throne chamber into broken islands of floating obsidian.

Allen didn’t slow down.

He was at his limit—he knew it—but if he gave the dragon even a second, he’d lose.

Azdraeth lashed out in a blind rage, a claw sweeping toward Allen fast enough to leave sonic booms in its wake.

Allen reacted on pure instinct.

“Void Mirage.”

He left behind a shimmering illusion mid-flight—the claw struck it—and detonated, buying Allen precious seconds.