Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives - Chapter 1580

Chapter 1580: Wraithlord of The Crypt
Villain Ch 1580. Wraithlord of The Crypt

The moment they passed through the portal, the world changed.

Gone was the clean twilight sky of Ront City, the festival-like atmosphere, the joy of flying dragons.

Now, the sky above them stretched deep and red—bleeding into black. Heavy clouds crawled like something alive, and from beyond the jagged horizon loomed a massive blood moon. It didn’t glow; it bled. Each pulse of light from it felt more like a heartbeat—wrong and ancient, slow and hungry. The air turned dry and sharp like iron, like old blood scraped from a rusted blade.

And below them?

Death.

A vast, desolate wasteland stretched out, cracked and cursed. Blackened soil curled like scorched parchment. Twisted trees clawed at the air like they’d tried to escape the ground but failed. Rivers flowed backward, dark crimson and thick. The land reeked of sulfur and rot and some kind of sweet, cloying perfume that didn’t belong.

Far in the distance stood the thing they’d come for.

The Cursed Crypts.

Dark spires jutted like broken teeth from a mountainous skull of bone and obsidian. Pale flames danced along its peaks—purple, red, and soul-blue—while the structure itself pulsed like it was alive. It wasn’t just a fortress. It was a warning.

This was the Devil Emperor’s HQ.

No player had ever been here.

And now?

They were the first.

No one said anything. The yelling stopped. The adrenaline-fueled whoops? Gone. No jokes. No banter. Just silence. Everyone locked in. Every breath felt too loud. The pressure settled on their shoulders, heavy and intimate. The wind even felt… wrong. Too still. Too quiet.

Father^Alex gripped his reins tighter. He’d tried to sit upright, shoulders back, giving off some confident main-healer vibe. But it was slipping fast.

His hands shook.

He didn’t think anyone noticed. He hoped no one did.

Until…

“You’re doing good, Alex,” came a calm voice beside him.

Mastercraft. Stoic as always. His silver armor gleamed faintly, but his tone carried warmth. “Just keep calm. You’ve always been our best healer.”

Alex forced a tiny smile, but it didn’t last.

Red_King flew up on the other side, his crimson-plated dragon matching his attitude. “Oh, c’mon. You’re decked out in mythic-tier gear and you’re still fidgeting?”

Alex hesitated. Then exhaled. “I’m afraid.”

Mastercraft tilted his head. “Afraid?”

Alex nodded, voice quiet. “Afraid I won’t give my best. That I’ll screw it up when it matters most.”

There was a pause. Then Red_King muttered, “We’re all afraid, man. Even Arcana’s too quiet, and that guy talks more than the devs’ patch notes. Fear means this is real. Just… concentrate. We’re not here by luck. We’re elites. We made it. So trust that.”

Alex’s eyes glistened, just a bit. He nodded.

Then lifted his staff.

A wave of radiant light exploded outward like a warm sunburst, rippling across the flight formation.

[Mass Buff Activated – Holy Blessing – Protection – Agility Surge]

[Your Speed has increased by 150%]

[Your Defense has increased by 180%]

[Your Accuracy, Magic Power, and Strength have increased by 120%]

A ripple of awe followed.

“Whoa,” someone whispered.

“God damn…” another muttered.

Even Red_King let out a long whistle. “You’re gonna do great, Alex. Hell, that almost made me cry.”

The energy from the buffs wrapped around every player like protective warmth. It filled their lungs with power. Magic pulsed at their fingertips. The dragons roared louder, sensing their riders’ readiness.

Then—Arcana gave the signal.

And they dove.

The flight path curved downward fast, diving toward the outer shell of the crypt fortress. The entrance was a jagged crack in the base of the mountain, like the maw of some ancient beast waiting to swallow them whole. The ground rushed up. Wind screamed. Mana surged.

That was when the Crypt responded.

With teeth.

The moment the first dragon crossed the shadow of the Crypt’s boundary, the earth lit up.

Bright red runes flashed in zigzagging patterns across the deadland, and with a BOOM, several cursed glyphs activated mid-air.

[Warning! Cursed Trap Triggered: “Windshear of the Forsaken”]

A cyclone of invisible force slammed through the air with the speed of lightning.

Screams broke the silence.

Players were knocked clean off their dragons, hurled backward like dolls in a storm.

Gil spun three times in the air before slamming into a chunk of floating debris.

A rogue’s winged beast screeched and disintegrated mid-spin.

Mages tumbled, robes flaring, staff flipping away.

Alex’s dragon roared, wings flapping wildly, but even it couldn’t avoid the impact. He was flung sideways, buff aura flickering, robes catching wind like a parachute. He screamed—but not in fear. In shock.

He crashed through a thorned canopy, rolled across a sharp stone ledge, and groaned as his HUD blinked madly. Debuffs stacking. Soulburn applied.

He coughed. “I’m fine! I—I think I’m fine!”

Red_King’s voice crackled in the party chat. “Healers check in! Tanks regroup! Where the fuck did that come from?!”

But they didn’t have time to answer.

Because something stepped out of the smoke.

Something huge.

The air grew colder.

The sky dimmed.

From the shadows of the cracked cathedral ruins at the base of the mountain… it emerged.

A skeletal figure nearly fifteen feet tall, draped in a robe stitched from souls—screaming, clawing souls—and wielding a massive double-headed scythe. Chains hung from its ribcage. Its face was hidden under a metal helm, glowing red beneath the eyes.

The Wraithlord.

[Elite Boss Encounter: Wraithlord of the Crypt – Lv. ???]

[Warning! Aura of Suppression – All Healing reduced by 50% within 50 meters]

“Oh… shit,” Elio muttered, staggering up to his feet, blade drawn. “I’ve read about this. This was only a myth-tier miniboss. He’s real?!”

Arcana’s dragon landed beside him, smoke rolling from its nostrils. Arcana dismounted with a hiss of magic armor releasing. “It’s guarding the gate. Hold position!”

Too late.

The Wraithlord raised its scythe and threw it—like a damn boomerang of death.

It spun through the air, slicing clean through a full raid party trying to regroup. They screamed as the blade phased through shields, severing buffs and flesh alike. Not lethal—thanks to the emergency revive tokens—but brutal.

Players scattered.

Some tried to remount their beasts, but the sky above was still wild with runic debris, and more traps hovered, primed.

“Spread!” Arcana yelled. “Ranged, to the rocks! Healers in the back!”

Some healers threw barrier spells forward—crystalline walls shimmering to intercept the Wraithlord’s path.

Alex limped into cover and cast Sanctuary Pulse, trying to cleanse debuffs from a stunned ally.

His fingers shook.

But he cast anyway.

Red_King leaped in, slamming his sword into the Wraithlord’s left knee, cracking bone. “Focus fire left leg! It’s slower than it looks!”

Azura blinked beside it, daggers already glowing. “On it—backstab time.”

Their blades, spells, and steel met cursed bone and agony.