Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives - Chapter 1885 - Capítulo 1885: Six Dead Brides
Capítulo 1885: Six Dead Brides
Villain Ch 1885. Six Dead Brides
Allen didn’t answer.
Because the door answered for him.
-SLAM!
It shut.
Not with wood.
With finality.
Chains erupted across it like vines. The walls pulsed once—flesh-colored, veiny, like they were remembering how to breathe.
And then—
The lights changed.
Faint at first. Then clearer.
Lines carved themselves into the walls. Glowing red. Then black. Then something darker.
And the air changed.
Like perfume and embalming fluid.
Like regret and formaldehyde.
They turned slowly.
There—
Mounted on the walls.
Six women.
Dressed in gowns.
Velvet. Lace. Gold trim. Silk gloves.
But dead.
Hanging like wedding dolls.
Eyes open.
Mouths stitched.
Skin pale. Some blue. One too gray. One too fresh.
Larissa actually stepped back. “Holy shit.”
Bella’s expression didn’t change, but her knuckles whitened.
Shea just stared. Not blinking. “He decorated the room. With them.”
Allen stepped forward. Slowly. Controlled.
Each bride had a symbol carved into her chest. Right below the collarbone. A rune that pulsed faintly.
“Demonic,” he muttered. “But not ours.”
“Then whose?” Jane asked.
Allen didn’t respond right away. He studied the room.
The walls were whispering now.
Not words.
Just sounds.
Laughs.
Coughs.
The clink of glass.
Wedding bells.
The illusion of peace layered over real horror.
“They’re preserved,” he finally said.
Vivian raised an eyebrow. “Taxidermy preserved?”
“No,” Allen muttered. “Warded. Protected by runes. He didn’t just kill them. He sealed their deaths like… trophies.”
“Or lovers,” Jane said coldly. “He couldn’t let go.”
Zoe sniffed the air. “One of them is fresh.”
Jane grimaced. “Don’t say that.”
Allen moved closer to the center of the room. The ceiling spun with more symbols—some rotating. Some watching.
This wasn’t just a memory.
It was a domain.
They’d stepped into the landlord’s heart.
Where he kept what he loved.
And what he destroyed.
“Which one’s Elise supposed to be?” Zoe asked softly.
Vivian let out a breath. “Lucky number seven.”
Allen’s fists clenched.
He turned. Looked each bride in the eye.
None of them blinked.
None of them moved.
Yet.
But they were watching.
The room creaked.
Something beneath the floorboards shifted.
Jane’s voice was tight now. “Allen. What’s the move?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Not because he didn’t know.
But because he hated what he knew.
“He’s watching,” Allen said. “Right now.”
“Through them?” Vivian asked.
“No.”
Allen looked up.
Through the ceiling.
A shadow twitched.
Like someone pulling strings.
“Through this whole fucking room.”
Suddenly—
A chime.
Sweet.
Like a wedding bell.
Then the voice.
A man’s.
Silken.
Rotting.
“She was so lovely… wasn’t she?”
Allen didn’t flinch.
The girls stood still.
The voice sighed. “But none of them ever stayed. None of them… appreciated me.”
Allen muttered, “Maybe try not murdering them.”
Another sigh.
More theatrical.
“It’s such effort, you know. The dinners. The dancing. The devotion. And still… they leave.”
“Because they’re dead,” Alice said flatly.
“I gave them everything,” the voice whispered. “They should have been grateful.”
Another chime.
The room pulsed.
Then the brides began to move.
Not quickly.
But subtly.
Their heads tilted.
In sync.
Toward Allen.
Their mouths stayed stitched.
But their eyes…
Alive.
[Enemy Identified – Demonic Bride Marionette]
[Bride of the Bleeding Veil—Level 255]
Allen drew his blade. The obsidian edge gleamed in the pulsing red light, catching the flicker of glowing runes on the walls. The steel thrummed faintly in his hand, like even it wanted no part of this shitshow.
The laughter came again.
Low. Wet. A sound like someone choking on wine and worms.
From everywhere.
From the ceiling.
From the floorboards.
From the brides.
The stitched mouths didn’t move—but the laughter spilled from them anyway.
Six dead women.
Hair perfectly curled.
Flesh preserved like taxidermy.
Gowns that smelled like dried rose petals and grave mold.
They moved in sync. Heads tilting. Necks cracking. One raised her hand in a slow, floaty motion, like she was about to wave—but her fingers twisted backward with a wet pop, turning into claws.
Allen exhaled through his teeth. “Alright. Six zombie ex-wives in wedding couture. That’s a new one.”
Jane didn’t blink. “Welcome to the dating pool, ladies.”
Vivian just cracked her knuckles. “I hate weddings anyway.”
Then the voice came again—humming now. Sweet. Melodic. Twisted.
“One… two… three… four… five… six…”
A pause.
Then with reverent hunger—
“I just need one more.”
The brides lunged.
Not clumsy.
Fast.
Allen moved like lightning. Duck. Pivot. Blade flashed. He severed one of the bride’s arms clean off—only for the limb to twitch and crawl back across the floor on its own like a spider made of silk and bone.
Zoe growled. “Oh fck off—” She slammed her tentacles into the arm, smashing it into a pulpy smear.
Vivian’s hands lit with charm fire, neon pink and smoking. “Alright, let’s have a bachelorette party, sluts.”
She launched twin fireballs at the two closest corpses. They took it straight to the chest—but didn’t stop.
Instead, their dresses ignited—and kept burning. And still, they walked.
“Is that hellfire or perfume?!” Vivian shouted.
“Maybe both,” Allen muttered.
One of the brides—a tall one in a wine-red gown—darted straight for Allen. Her heels didn’t touch the floor. She glided. Her smile was stitched crooked, her jaw open too wide.
He parried her claw with a grunt—felt the impact ripple down his wrist. Her strength wasn’t human. The claws scraped his blade, leaving glowing residue like blood mixed with ink.
She hissed.
Behind her, another bride shrieked—finally unstitched her mouth. And what poured out wasn’t a scream.
It was a curse.
[Warning! Your Mana is being drained.]
[Status Effect: Mental Fog – Accuracy -25%]
Jane snarled. “She’s casting!”
Necromantic sigils spun around her fingers. “Not on my fuckin’ watch.”
She raised her hand and snapped her fingers. A wave of anti-magic burst out, purple-black like bruised shadow. The casting bride staggered—neck snapping sideways as the spell shattered.
“You’re not the only corpse in this room,” Jane whispered.
Suddenly—Alice dropped from the ceiling like a cat. She’d been riding her broom up there, apparently.
“Surprise, bitch!” she cackled, dropping a fire rune onto one of the bride’s backs.
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