Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives - Chapter 1595

hapter 1595: X-Factor
Villain Ch 1595. X-Factor

Allen sat on the Throne of Dread, and for a moment, he said nothing.

He just… watched.

Azura, wild-eyed, bleeding from a shallow cut on her cheek, growled and tried to stand. Her daggers trembled slightly in her grip, not from weakness, but restraint. The kind of restraint that came when rage was seconds from exploding again.

But before she could even launch another attack, something massive stirred behind her.

A rumble. A growl. Three heads turned.

The three-headed dragon stepped forward, blocking her with a wing like a giant, scaled curtain. One of its heads, the savage one, roared loud enough to shake the entire battlefield, a guttural sound that cracked the air like a whip.

The noble head blinked slowly, regal and unmoving.

And the derpy one?

It looked at Azura and tilted slightly.

“…Uhhhh, boss lady?” it slurred with a dopey grin. “Did anyone order a fresh slice of ‘calm your damn tits’?”

Azura blinked.

Allen nearly smirked.

Emma laughed out loud, though she quickly covered her mouth with a bloodied hand, trying to swallow the sound. Even now, red dripped from her fingertips, soaking into the throne platform. The wound on her lower back hadn’t fully healed, and that tight leather outfit she picked for style and flair was now torn at the side.

She walked up to the steps of the throne, her whip dragging behind her like a dead snake, its glow flickering. Her breath was still uneven, but her gaze was sharp again. Focused.

“Al… Your Majesty,” she said, the edge of sarcasm not completely gone, but gentler now. “Why are you helping me?”

He didn’t answer right away.

His fingers slowly slid along the edge of his sword. He stared at the chaos below—fires burning, players resurrecting via talismans or divine blessings, dragons still in aerial battle with wyvern riders, several smaller boss mobs still alive.

He exhaled through his nose.

“Because,” he said flatly, “if I didn’t and you died… you’d be in a pissy mood all day.”

She blinked.

He didn’t look at her, still watching the fight, his tone as dry as the crypt air. “And your pissy moods give me a headache.”

Emma opened her mouth, ready to fire back some kind of flirty retort, but paused. She studied him instead. The tension in his shoulders. The subtle flicker of his ring finger—twitching like someone suppressing an itch to fight.

She stayed quiet.

He finally turned his head, barely, just enough to meet her gaze. “So,” he said, “you staying here and watching? Or heading back to the Crypts?”

“…I’ll rejoin the others,” she said after a pause.

He nodded. “Good.”

She didn’t even bother to teleport. She just walked. Her heels clicked across the dark platform stone, vanishing into the shadow portal at the back like she was retreating backstage after a performance.

And that’s all this was, right?

One big damn performance.

Allen sighed and stood. This throne disappeared.

His hand flexed at his side.

His red eyes, half-lidded, scanned the battlefield again.

The players were surviving longer than he thought. That was… mildly annoying.

He tilted his head, watching as Red_King unleashed another Meteor Slam on a fire-dragon clone near the outer bridge, while Father^Alex was glowing bright with golden barrier, healing people from across the area like a divine fountain on steroids.

Arcana was still standing—still leading, armor cracked but pride intact.

And Azura… oh, she was stalking off, seething, but smart enough not to try a round two against him. Yet.

He gave her credit. Out of all of them, she was the one closest to reaching him.

He turned his gaze to the crypts.

The defenses were still holding. Bone walls shifting, necrotic lava pits churning, scream-runes triggered and already resetting. He had trapped the entire dungeon with such insane overkill—triple-layered wards, hidden illusions, teleport scramblers—that he doubted even a player could brute-force their way to the real throne.

But that didn’t mean some players hadn’t tried.

Allen’s jaw tightened slightly.

He saw the trail of corpses near the northwest hall. Four elite players. One tank. One support. Two DPS. Sneaky ones. Had solid builds. Used silence fields and cloaking runes. Almost made it past corridor thirteen.

But not good enough.

He’d killed them personally. Snapped the support’s neck with a telekinetic grip. Split the tank’s shield in two. Watched the DPS crawl away with one arm missing before turning to bones.

Still, it didn’t satisfy him.

None of it did.

It was too easy.

Too predictable.

They all had numbers. Strategy. But no one had that thing. That X-factor. That chaos spark. That ridiculous, stupid, illogical burst of brilliance that made the whole battle flip on its head.

Only a few had it.

Elio.

Red_King.

Arcana.

Azura.

Alex.

Even Erenblade, who wasn’t there yet, had… potential.

Allen crossed his arms again. His rings clicked against the steel of his gauntlet. His gaze dropped to a player crouching near the eastern pillar—hiding, probably readying a suicide burst to dive inside the throne chamber when the timers hit low.

Allen’s lip curled. A smirk this time.

Desperate tactics were the most interesting kind.

He glanced toward the timer.

[Time Remaining: 14:04]

Fourteen minutes.

Then it’s over.

He exhaled.

“I guess,” he murmured to no one in particular, “I overprepared.”

The wind howled around his throne, ash swirling up like snow made of ghosts.

“None of them even reached the real throne room. Just knocking on the gates… like scared kids trick-or-treating at a haunted house.”

He stepped forward, standing on the edge of the throne platform, cloak flaring behind him.

“I need to fight someone.”

A spark of dark mana flared around his boots, thrumming up through his legs like it missed the adrenaline as much as he did.

“Or I’ll die of boredom.”

He raised one hand.

-Snap!

A ripple of black mana exploded from his fingers like a sonar pulse, invisible to normal players but clear as day to anyone with decent Perception.

A challenge.

The corrupted aura surged, thickening the air like smog on fire. Players near the edge of the Crypts stopped. Looked up.

Red_King blinked. “No way…”