Villain Ch 1619. Is This What You Wanted?
Jane, though… She was the one who leaned into it the hardest.
She called corpses to rise.
Not just to fight, but to kneel.
She made a path of crawling revenants that carried her forward like a queen on a broken tide. Her undead army killed mercilessly, sometimes ripping enemies apart just so Jane could paint symbols in blood with her fingers.
She approached Allen with blood on her lips, kissed his gauntlet, and whispered, "You inspire the best in me."
He didn't stop her.
Didn't stop any of them.
Because this—this madness, this silent, twisted competition—was better than the last event.
This wasn't war.
This was art.
And Allen was their audience.
And their muse.
The blood trail they left colored the crystal glass of the floor, smeared like deliberate strokes from living paint. Their footsteps echoed like verses. The corpses weren't just corpses anymore—they were punctuation. Full stops. Exclamation marks.
