Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives - Chapter 1882: Not Just a Quest Giver
Chapter 1882: Not Just a Quest Giver
Villain Ch 1882. Not Just a Quest Giver
The girl was crying.
“No, please—please, I’ll work! I’ll sew, I’ll clean, I’ll—”
Greg’s voice cut her off. “It’s already decided. The contract is signed.”
His wife didn’t look at the girl. Didn’t blink.
The girl sobbed harder.
And then—
Greg turned.
And looked right at Allen.
Not through him.
At him.
His eyes locked, and for a split second—Allen swore—he saw something real flicker there. Recognition.
“You,” Greg said, voice flat. “You don’t belong here.”
The illusion cracked.
The crowd flickered. The torches glitched. And just like that, the memory popped like a bubble.
The world returned.
The gate now stood open.
Allen stood silent for a moment, jaw tight.
Sira spoke up first, quiet. “He looked at you.”
“I know.”
“What does it mean?”
Allen’s fingers flexed around the grip of his sword. “It means Greg’s not just a quest giver. He’s part of the curse.”
Vivian muttered, “I knew that garlic stench was hiding something.”
They stepped through the gate.
And into hell.
The manor was massive. Gothic architecture stretched high like bony fingers scraping the clouds. Statues lined the overgrown gardens—angels with broken faces, headless brides, screaming children carved from stone. The main doors groaned as they pushed them open, the hinges crying like a wounded animal.
Inside—
Rot. Everywhere.
The once-beautiful foyer was a corpse. Chandeliers hung broken, draped in cobwebs. Portraits bled from their frames. The carpet was blackened with mildew, curling up at the edges like it wanted to leave.
The walls… whispered.
Softly. Just enough to catch the corner of your hearing. Just enough to feel like they were mocking you.
A sob echoed. Far away. A girl’s.
The group moved carefully. Step by step, steel drawn. Even Zoe’s tentacles were tense, coiled close to her body.
Every hallway bent too sharply. Every stair groaned like it hated their weight.
Then—
They reached the dining hall.
The doors opened with a push.
Inside was…
Normal.
No rot. No screams.
A perfectly set table. Food still steaming. Wine glistening in goblets. Candles glowing gently.
Greg sat at the head of the table.
His wife beside him.
They looked alive.
Real.
Whole.
The lighting was soft. The air smelled of rosemary and garlic.
Greg looked up as they entered.
His eyes were calm.
“You disappointed me.”
Allen stopped walking.
Greg’s voice was sharp.
“You almost killed your grandmother.”
His wife still hadn’t moved. Just stared. Cold. Silent.
“And now this,” Greg continued. “Running from your duty. From your future.”
“We just wanted you to be happy.”
His voice didn’t rise. It dropped. Heavy. Accusing.
“This was your payment.”
Allen didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
But something twisted in his chest.
It wasn’t the scene.
It was the tone.
He’d heard that voice before.
Not from Greg.
From him.
His stepfather.
The yelling after Allen went home from school.
The “You owe me”s.
The “Look what you put your mother through”s.
And her silence.
His mother. Sitting there, always quiet. Always cold. Never defending.
Allen’s fingers twitched around his blade. He said nothing. But his breathing had slowed.
Then—
The girl appeared.
Not a memory. Not a ghost.
She walked in from the side door. Barefoot. Head down. Eyes red.
She stood in front of Greg and the woman.
“I… I didn’t mean it.”
Her voice was barely a whisper.
Greg stood.
Then slammed his fists into the table.
The whole room shook.
“What do you mean?!”
Greg’s voice shattered the room like a thunderclap. It cracked the illusion. The walls twitched. The silverware on the table vibrated, humming with tension like drawn blades.
The girl flinched. She looked so small standing there. Shoulders hunched. Fingers twisting into the hem of her stained dress. Her voice barely rose above a whisper.
“I… I didn’t mean to run. I just—I was scared. Grandma was—she—”
Greg slammed the table again. Plates jumped. The roast meat bled onto the tablecloth like it was fresh.
“She’s in the hospital because of you!” he roared. “She collapsed after you stabbed her! Bleeding!”
The girl blinked back tears. Her lips trembled. “That’s not fair. I didn’t ask for any of this…”
“Our debts are worse than ever,” Greg snapped. “You know that! And now, with your grandmother dying, we can’t afford another delay. The landlord is waiting.”
“Tonight,” the woman said.
Her voice was calm. Too calm.
Cold. Measured. Cruel in its quiet.
“Tonight, Elise. You will marry him tonight.”
Elise’s knees wobbled. “I don’t want to.”
“He is rich,” the woman said, eyes narrowing. “He can erase all this. All our shame. Why do you keep running, Elise?”
“I’m just a child!” Elise snapped, her voice cracking.
“You’re sixteen,” the woman replied sharply. “Old enough to work. Old enough to marry. And the landlord promised he wouldn’t touch you until you’re grown.”
Elise recoiled, face twisted in disbelief. “Lies!”
She stepped forward now, teeth bared through tears. “Then tell me where his other wives went. Where are they? The ones before me?”
Greg’s eyes darkened. His face twitched.
“Don’t ask too many questions, girl.”
Elise’s voice rose. “You’re selling me!”
“We’re saving you!” Greg snapped. “Saving you from living like we did! Dirt poor. Hopeless. Dragging our name into the gutter!”
The woman didn’t blink. “Be grateful.”
“I HATE YOU!” Elise screamed.
Then—
The candles screamed.
Real, piercing screams—like tiny lungs choking on flame.
The food curdled in an instant, writhing into maggots and gore. The wine turned black and bubbled over the edge of the goblets like tar.
Greg’s face began to melt. Slowly. Like wax in a furnace. His smile peeled back first, lips liquefying, teeth exposed like bone candy. Flesh sagged like wet dough, dripping off his jaw. His eyes bulged, then popped, leaking smoke.
The woman’s eyes rolled back. Then her jaw split wide open—far too wide—unzipping from ear to ear as her skin sloughed off like wet paper. A scream poured from her throat, high and glassy.
The walls bled.
The chairs cracked.
The scene dissolved into blood.
Allen didn’t wait.
He drew his blade in one breath.
And whispered, voice flat as a guillotine.
“Finally.”
