Chapter 1870: Just Lazy
Villain Ch 1870. Just Lazy
They soaked a little longer, steam curling around them, but eventually even the heat couldn’t hide the fact that the day had to move forward. The water clung to their skin as they climbed out, dripping, toweling themselves dry with lazy, unbothered motions.
Vivian stretched like a cat, completely unapologetic about flashing Allen. "I’m still wrecked."
"You were wrecked," Bella teased, wrapping a towel around herself like a fox with a stolen prize. "Now you’re just lazy."
"Same thing," Vivian purred.
By the time they made it back to the villa’s living room, the sweeper bots had already done their work. The floor was spotless, glass polished, blankets folded, pillows stacked. No sign of the battlefield they had turned it into last night.
"Creepy," Alice muttered, side-eyeing one of the bots zipping under the couch. "It’s like our sins never happened."
Allen dropped onto the couch, pulling on his shirt, hair still damp and wild. "Don’t worry. You’ll sin again soon enough."
They laughed, half-nervous, half-excited.
Zoe slouched into an armchair, tugging on her VR band. "So... couple of hours as the start then?"
"Couple of hours," Allen confirmed. "Warm-up. We go in, break something, remind them we’re still breathing."
"Breathing?" Larissa asked dryly as she slipped into her gear, her pale skin catching the light like porcelain. "You mean choking them until they beg."
Allen smirked. "Semantics."
One by one, they strapped on their devices, helmets sliding into place, cables humming. The villa faded as the connection hit—vision glitching white, then black, then the familiar pull of immersion.
When their eyes opened again, it wasn’t the villa anymore.
It was the Cursed Crypts.
Cold air.
Rotting stone.
The scent of mildew and old blood.
Their footsteps echoed as they materialized in a wide chamber lined with cracked sarcophagi and shadow-torches burning sickly green flame. Chains hung from the ceiling, swaying gently though no wind moved.
Allen’s boots clicked against the floor first. His figure—taller, sharper here. His armor black as spilled ink, edged with crimson light that pulsed like veins. The Devil Emperor.
Behind him, the girls appeared one by one. Shea’s skin shimmered with faint scales in this form, her siren aura trailing like waves.
Zoe loomed, eyes glimmering like deep sea lanterns.
Bella’s fox tails unfurled, playful but dangerous.
Larissa’s gown dripped shadows, her vampire fangs flashing when she smiled.
Vivian’s wings spread, leathery and sinful, her succubus charm already humming in the air.
Alice perched on her floating broom, hat tilted, her spellbook chained to her hip. Jane’s robes dragged along the floor, the smell of grave-dirt clinging to her necromancer aura.
They didn’t look human here. They looked like nightmares given form.
Zoe broke the silence first. "You know... it feels weird. After last night, to just show up like this. Like nothing happened. Still villains."
Shea snorted, water dripping from her lips even in-game. "You want to go hiking instead?"
Jane’s laugh was dry and humorless. "No thanks. I prefer corpses to cardio."
Bella twirled her tails, grinning. "I’d hike if Allen promised to catch me every time I tripped."
Vivian hummed. "He’d let you fall. On purpose."
Allen chuckled low, the sound carrying in the crypt like a growl. "Maybe. Depends on how funny it looked."
The girls laughed, but it didn’t shake the tension of the place.
Allen stepped forward, boots echoing against cracked tiles. "We’re not here for hikes. We’re here to remind them why they call us villains. Let the mortals camp. We carve our names into the walls."
His voice carried that edge again. The Emperor. That weight that made his harem fall silent, watching him, drawn into his orbit.
Shea cracked her knuckles. "What’s the plan?"
"Settle our daily quest as always and..." Allen tilted his head, a slow smirk spreading. "We hunt. A fast one."
Alice’s broom drifted higher, shadows curling at its edges. "Minions or players?"
"Both," Allen said.
Larissa licked her lips, fangs flashing. "Good. I’m thirsty."
Vivian let her wings flex, brushing Bella’s shoulder on purpose. "Try not to hog them all."
Jane muttered, "Not my fault if they beg for death first."
Zoe leaned against a broken sarcophagus, crossing her arms. "Okay... but what’s the idea? Where do we hunt? I’d prefer it tied to a quest. Something with flair. Something with a dramatic story. And—" she tilted her head, smirking faintly, "—rumors. I like rumors."
Allen arched a brow but didn’t answer. He wanted them to think.
Alice twirled her broom, eyes bright. "There’s a chain quest I’ve been watching. The Candle Wives. Supposedly, abandoned brides who burned alive in their gowns. Their ghosts haunt a manor in the southern crypt branch. Every time someone lights the candles there, the wives ’marry’ you... then eat you. Creepy, theatrical, perfect. And rumors say the drops include a veil artifact that boosts charisma. Very... villain appropriate."
Bella’s tails swished, sharp grin on her face. "That’s cute. But I heard about the Scarlet Huntsman. NPC, not a player. Wears the skins of other hunters as trophies. Spawns in the cursed forest. Drops knives that scale with blood spilled. And players keep whispering he’s bugged—like he adapts to whoever fights him. I like the sound of breaking him."
Jane finally looked up from her shadows, her voice calm and deadpan. "Both good. But there’s something better. The Weeping Choir. A dungeon where every monster screams in harmony until your health drops to zero. No real mechanics. Just agony. Rumor says no guild has cleared it because the screams get into your head. That means... ripe for us. We can twist it. Make the screams part of our entrance."
Larissa’s smirk curved, sharp and knowing. "What about you, Allen? Which one do you choose? Or..." she tilted her glass of virtual blood, ruby liquid glinting, "do you have something better tucked away?"
Allen leaned back against the cracked altar, casual as if the entire crypt belonged to him. His smile never warmed, not even for them. "The three are interesting," he admitted. "Candle brides, skinning huntsman, screaming choir. All fine amusements." He tapped his finger against the stone, like a judge deliberating over a guilty verdict. "But I heard something else on the forum."