Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives - Chapter 1548

Chapter 1548: I’m Persuasive

Villain Ch 1548. I’m Persuasive

Jane filled the upper balconies with summoned skeletons and bound them to respond to voice commands—code phrases like “they found the throne!” or “kill them all” would activate different defensive sequences.

One would lock the doors.

Another would flood the throne with smoke and fire.

The final one would detonate the sides of the throne hall in a collapsing cave-in. Last resort. Full wipe. End it all.

Because if they couldn’t hold it…

No one else deserved to take it.

By the time the sunless sky above the Crypts dimmed further—indicating the system’s version of night—they were exhausted. Bloody. Sweaty. Cursed. Stinking of sulfur, ash, and mana burn.

But the Cursed Crypts?

They were ready.

A fortress of nightmares.

A dungeon made by villains.

And Allen’s throne—the glowing, swirling core of the Crypt’s power—sat unbothered in the center.

The one thing they had to protect.

The one thing the enemy would be after.

The girls sprawled across the throne room floor in varying states of collapse.

Jane fell asleep halfway inside a mimic chest. It purred, weirdly.

Shea used one of Zoe’s tentacles as a pillow.

Vivian just laid back with her eyes closed, smile lazy, as if the entire hellscape they’d built was a love letter.

Allen sat on the throne again, his hands resting loosely on the armrests.

He opened the system screen and set the base status from [Open] to [Sealed].

Only they could come and go freely now.

Anyone else?

They’d have to earn every damn step.

Allen didn’t smile.

But he looked satisfied.

Let them come.

Let them try.

This time…

They were ready.

The Crypts had become a fortress. The traps were set, the dragons were summoned, and Allen’s throne now radiated with the kind of ominous, boss-level presence that would make even a seasoned guild second-guess their life choices.

Satisfied, Allen leaned back one last time on the jagged obsidian throne, checked his system interface, and exhaled through his nose.

Time to log out.

[Logging out…]

[Disconnecting from VR Interface…]

[Please remain still while returning to reality.]

The game world blinked into nothingness.

Reality came back in pieces.

First, the faint scent of lemon-mint cleanser in his room. Then, cold air brushed over his skin, replacing the sweat and grime of battle with mundane comfort. His muscles no longer ached, his wings were gone, and his favorite, slightly-wrinkled black T-shirt hung loose on his now entirely non-demonic frame.

Allen rubbed his face with both hands, dragging his palms down in exhaustion, and shuffled over to the sink. He splashed cold water on his face, leaned on the counter, and stared at himself in the mirror.

No burn marks. No blood. No dragons. No throne.

Just him.

He grabbed a towel and dried off, then headed toward the door to join his sister and dad for dinner.

And then, when he just came out of the room— The sound.

Quick. Light. But too quick.

Eager. Unhinged. Like a runaway dog on tile.

Allen paused mid-step.

No.

He turned toward the hallway slowly—already tensing—because he knew that rhythm.

That chaotic stomp-patter-stomp of someone who had no concept of pacing or spatial awareness.

Before he could react—bam.

“BROTHEEEEERRRRR!!”

A blur launched at him from the hallway. Allen’s entire soul flinched.

He didn’t move—just barely resisting the urge to either block, run, or maybe teleport back into the game.

Arms latched around his waist like a missile.

“Emma—!” he grunted, staggering slightly. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

She squeezed harder, looking way too excited for this hour of the day. Or any hour. “I GOT IT!”

“…Got what?” Allen asked cautiously, not yet releasing the tension in his shoulders. “The plague? Why are you shouting like this—?”

“The permission! I got the permission!” she squealed.

Allen blinked. “Permission?”

Emma looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with victory. “To join you in the next event! I can finally play with you in your dungeon!”

He stared at her.

She grinned wider.

He stared harder.

“…That was fast,” Allen muttered. “You only filed the request this morning.”

“I told you I’m persuasive,” Emma said, sing-song and smug.

Allen blinked at her. Slowly. “Emma… what exactly did you submit?”

“Oh, just a totally normal ‘collaborative gameplay enhancement request with sibling-based immersion augmentation.’ Very standard.”

Allen pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s not a real form. That’s a pile of buzzwords you stitched together and probably put on letterhead.”

She grinned wider. “Well, it worked.”

Allen stared. “Is Dad… even okay with this?”

Emma shrugged. “I asked. He said, ‘Fine. Just don’t break anything.'”

“…You took that as a yes?”

“It was a yes! Technically! And I haven’t broken anything yet. Not today, anyway.”

Allen sighed with the weariness of a man who knew the universe wasn’t going to stop her, so he might as well try to contain the fallout.

“…Remind me to tell Dad to disable your admin-level creativity mode.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would,” he muttered.

Emma just bounced on her heels beside him, entirely too pleased with herself.

Allen gave her a sideways glance. “Wait a sec.”

Emma looked up innocently.

“…Was it you who designed that damn three-headed dragon meme?”

Emma’s grin was criminal.

“What dragon meme?”

Allen narrowed his eyes. “Don’t play dumb with me. You know which one. The one with two serious heads and one derpy idiot head. My last dungeon boss had that dynamic.”

She burst into laughter immediately. “Oh my god, no! I wish I’d designed that one! But nope, not me. Although… I did submit a concept for a four-headed version like a month ago. Each head says ‘brother’ in a different emotional tone.”

Allen stopped walking.

Emma kept walking.

Then turned around. “You okay?”

He looked like he’d just seen the real final boss.

“…I regret asking you.”

“Too late~!”

They reached the dining room—already filled with the smells of garlic rice, grilled chicken, and something suspiciously too green to be trusted.