Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives - Chapter 1880 - Capítulo 1880: Scarecrows
Capítulo 1880: Scarecrows
Villain Ch 1880. Scarecrows
He followed it through a twisted alley, past a well that reeked of something too sweet, then beneath an archway where the stone bled moss like veins. He half-expected the path to bend back toward the manor—the landlord’s estate. Some gilded parasite palace at the edge of this haunted place.
But it didn’t.
Instead…
It opened.
The fog thinned. The scent changed.
Dirt.
Fresh. Untouched.
And trees.
Real trees.
They broke through the edge of the cursed town like crossing into a broken painting. The woods ahead looked untouched—quiet, even peaceful in that wrong way. The trees grew too close together. Their branches tangled like skeletal hands.
The girl had run.
Not toward danger.
Away from it.
“She wasn’t going to the landlord,” Allen muttered. “She was escaping.”
Jane nodded, her shadow-touched eyes scanning the treeline. “Makes sense. The grandmother, the curse… she tried to get out.”
“She failed,” Larissa said flatly. “Or we wouldn’t be here.”
The group moved slowly now. Less like a warband, more like searchers. The ground beneath them turned from stone to damp soil, crunching beneath boots. Somewhere overhead, a bird cawed once—then stopped like it had been swallowed mid-sound.
Zoe’s voice was low. “This place smells wrong. Like old grain. And mold.”
Vivian inhaled slowly. “Mmm. I smell hay. Blood under it.”
Then the field opened.
Rows of corn. Dead.
Or maybe dying forever.
Their stalks towered above them, gray-green with rot, brittle but somehow still standing. The wind didn’t move them. No breeze. No rustle. Only silence and that heavy, hungover feeling of something watching.
Scarecrows dotted the rows.
Old. Torn. Wrong.
Some wore wedding veils.
Some had child-sized shoes tied to their ankles.
Some had no heads—just stitched bags that oozed something dark.
Allen stopped at the edge of the corn. His eyes flicked once. He saw it.
Movement.
Near one of the scarecrows. Human-shaped.
The girl.
She crouched low behind one of the crooked poles, arms tight around herself, hair tangled, shoulders shaking. Her dress—ripped and mud-stained—was the same from the vision.
He stepped forward. Carefully. Blade lowered. Voice soft.
“Hey.”
Her head snapped toward him. Face pale. Lips cracked. Eyes wide with something older than fear.
“Get lost.”
Her voice was a scream.
Not loud. Not high.
But sharp enough to make the ground shake.
The corn around them trembled. Not from wind. From something waking.
The scarecrows twisted. Their heads snapped toward the group with the sound of wet cloth tearing.
And then—
Crows.
Thousands of them.
Black wings exploded from the sky. A tornado of feathers and shrieks. Wraiths clawed their way from the soil, moaning in fractured voices, their limbs long and twitching.
“Company,” Zoe hissed, already summoning her tentacles.
Jane raised her arms. “Necromancy. Rise and eat your siblings.” Her voice cracked through the air like thunder in a graveyard.
Shadows bled from her fingertips. Her wraiths hissed into existence, clawing at the incoming ones with shrieks and echoing howls.
Larissa’s wings snapped open. “Feast,” she whispered. A swarm of red bats burst from her shadow and launched into the sky, colliding with the flock midair.
Feathers fell like ash.
Allen moved fast. “Cover me.”
He darted through the field. Ducking under low-hanging stalks. Leaping over rotten bundles. The girl’s silhouette was barely visible now—tucked behind a scarecrow that looked like it had been built from bones and old wedding dresses.
He slowed as he got close. The crows were circling the edges of the corn now, shrieking like sentient alarms.
The girl peeked out. Her eyes glowed faint. Not magic.
Fear.
“Don’t—” she whispered. “It’ll wake up.”
Allen’s brows twitched. “What—?”
Then the scarecrow moved.
Its head turned—crick, crack—without bending its neck. The stitched burlap peeled slightly at the seam. Something like a tooth—no, a nail—poked out.
Allen’s instincts flared. He dove sideways.
The scarecrow lashed out. Fast. Too fast for cloth. Its arm cracked backward like a whip, fingers made of splintered bone and rusted wire. The swing missed Allen by inches.
[Spawn Detected: Hollow Scarecrow – Lv. 240]
It didn’t creak like a normal dummy. It hissed, burlap face twisting as nails jutted through its seams. The whole frame smelled of wet hay, blood and rust.
Allen hit the dirt hard, rolled once, came up in a crouch. Blade raised. Fog curling around him.
The scarecrow let out a sound.
Not a scream.
A creak.
Then it twisted its whole body and shrieked.
Three more scarecrows stepped down from their posts.
Their straw twisted like sinew. Their hands crackled with rusted tools—sickles, nails, scissors.
Allen stood slowly. “Oh. Lovely.”
Vivian’s voice came over the corn rows. “Do you need help, or is this another personal fight thing?”
“Little of both,” he muttered.
The first scarecrow lunged. Allen slashed through its middle—clean.
But it didn’t bleed.
It just collapsed—empty. Like hitting a curtain. Smoke spilled out instead of stuffing.
The second one came from the side. He blocked with his gauntlet, grunted as the rusted sickle scraped his armor. Sparks flew.
He kicked its leg out, spun, and slashed through its chest.
Again—empty.
“Shadows,” he whispered. “They’re not real. Just fears.”
But they hit hard.
The third one tried to leap on him. He met it midair with a punch to the chest—sent it flying back into the stalks. The corn snapped in a dozen places as the thing rolled.
His breath misted. The wind returned. Cold.
Behind him—more footsteps.
Not hers.
Not his team.
More scarecrows.
Dozens now.
Allen turned slowly, blade gleaming in the faint moonlight. He narrowed his eyes.
“I guess if we fight them, they multiply.”
The scarecrows twitched. Static in burlap. One tilted its nailed head sideways like it understood him. Another dragged a rusted sickle across the dirt in slow, deliberate circles.
Behind him, the girl whimpered.
Shea’s voice came from just beyond the corn. “But we have to kill them somehow, right?”
Allen didn’t answer right away. He stared at the nearest scarecrow. Its stitched mouth opened slightly, oozing something black that hissed when it touched the soil.
Finally, he exhaled. “Yeah.”
Then he smirked. “Let’s just burn it, then.”
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