THE VILLAIN'S POV Chapter 682: Under the Crimson Sky (2)
The scene felt completely surreal.
It was beyond comprehension.
How could a moment of pure joy shift so rapidly into absolute terror?
In what way had certain victory transformed into such crushing despair?
Wesker’s third eye took in the entire spectacle...
and his features contorted into an expression of pure ecstasy.
"Ah... yes," he whispered,
listening as the chorus of detonations and agonized screams played like a masterpiece in his ears.
"This is the moment. This is exactly what I desired to witness... what I longed to hear!
Ahahahahaha!"
His maniacal laughter echoed across the firmament,
even as he traded blows with Frey and Snow from both sides.
These were the instances Wesker truly existed for...
the specific second when mortals attained the pinnacle of their happiness,
fully convinced of their ultimate triumph...
only for him to descend,
shattering that joy and replacing it with tragedy.
That was his ultimate source of pleasure...
the cruel, sadistic whim of Wesker, the Fourth Seat of the Upper Demons.
While humans perished in massive numbers below,
the three figures remained locked in an aerial duel,
trapped in a conflict that seemed entirely hopeless.
Even with their combined strength, Frey and Snow could not find a single opening.
As Frey’s Dark Sister struck against Wesker’s unprotected hand,
the realization hit him...
the chasm between their powers was beyond measurement.
The sheer scale of Wesker’s strength was unnatural.
The overwhelming disparity left Frey seething with a sense of helpless rage.
"You were present from the very start," Frey bellowed, his strikes becoming frantic as he sliced through the air with ripples of Black Hole Aura.
"You stayed by my side... observing me... with those abominable eyes of yours!"
The very heavens trembled under the force of his fury,
yet Wesker parried every move with effortless grace.
"You had the chance to kill me whenever you pleased!
So why?! Why choose now... of all possible moments?!"
Frey’s anger reached its boiling point,
his mind struggling to grasp the demon’s true objective.
Wesker had been Aegon all along.
It meant he had been there for everything...
inside the temple, during the hunts, throughout the entire war...
and even long before those events.
There were occasions when Frey had engaged Aegon in direct combat,
times when the prince appeared to be genuinely attempting to take his life,
and instances where he had acted so weak and vulnerable,
that Frey truly believed he could finish him without effort.
But the truth was a stark contrast to that deception.
Now, a single question haunted Frey’s thoughts...
"Why?!"
What reason could a demon of Wesker’s status have to maintain such an elaborate masquerade?
Aegon... the power-hungry prince who had fooled the entire world into thinking
he desired the throne for the benefit of mankind.
Wesker... the treacherous demon whose real goals were beyond anyone's understanding.
Who could have ever guessed that they were the same person?
The mere realization made Frey’s head throb with pain.
Meanwhile, Wesker’s laughter only grew more intense,
as if this specific revelation was the payoff he had been anticipating.
"Oh, my dear Frey... what kind of nonsense are you rambling about now?"
With a surge of heavy aura, he swatted Snow away like an insect,
then lunged forward to seize Frey’s throat in a vice-like grip.
Dark tendrils burst from Wesker’s form,
entwining around the Dark Sister and binding the blade in a net of demonic energy.
Caught in the demon’s hand, Frey felt his strength vanish.
"Who ever claimed I intended to kill you, Frey?"
Wesker’s third eye glowed with a predatory light as he pulled him closer.
"The objective was never your death.
You must remain alive... regardless of the price."
While maintaining his hold, Wesker began to exert pressure on Frey’s frame,
snapping bone after bone—
yet he carefully avoided delivering a fatal wound.
Frey was lost in confusion.
He was unaware that the demons required him to stay alive for a specific purpose.
And that purpose...
was etched into Wesker’s mind.
In the distant past, Nameless had achieved the impossible.
By manipulating the essence of souls,
he had successfully imprisoned the spirit of Agaroth himself.
In that realm situated between existence and the void,
Nameless held authority even over the Demon King.
However, Agaroth’s soul was too vast,
too powerful to be contained...
no physical vessel in the world was capable of holding it.
Because of this, Nameless transformed Helmond, the demon world itself,
into the vessel for Agaroth.
From that moment on, the Demon King was bound to Helmond, unable to leave.
Nameless hadn't just suppressed Agaroth’s Qi...
he had locked his very being within that tainted world.
But the seal had inexplicably started to fail...
the more Frey Starlight mirrored Nameless,
and the more he tapped into those forbidden techniques.
To put it simply...
the key required to shatter the seal...
was Frey Starlight himself.
"You are incapable of defeating me, Frey—
not even with your little Lightbearer companion,"
Wesker remarked, his tone dripping with disdain,
as a dark fog swirled from his palm, consuming Snow Lionheart.
The mist wrapped around Snow like a sentient shadow,
swallowing him from every direction.
"The situation is quite grim, Frey.
Your comrades could perish at any moment...
Why don't you make an effort to save them?"
Wesker chuckled,
his grin twisting further as his demonic aura flooded Frey’s system like a lethal toxin.
Frey’s veins throbbed against his skin; blood began to leak from his eyes and mouth under the immense force.
"I am certain this isn't the limit of your power!" Wesker hissed,
tightening his fingers around Frey’s head.
"I know there is something far greater—hidden deep within you!"
The atmosphere vibrated.
The very void recoiled under the demon’s overwhelming presence.
"Come! Release it! Reveal that hidden power!
Just as you did during your fight with Zibar!"
He was provoking him...
deliberately forcing Frey to manifest that state once more.
The state where Nameless took over his body.
That fact alone confirmed Frey's suspicions...
Wesker had been observing from the darkness this entire time.
He had witnessed every second of the clash with Zibar.
The demon’s true intent wasn't Frey's demise...
it was to push him to the edge...
to force him to awaken the dormant power slumbering in his soul.
And that was precisely what he was doing now...
driving Frey, and the rest of humanity, into a corner of total hopelessness.
Held fast by Wesker’s iron strength,
Frey’s eyes suddenly ignited with a violet radiance.
The Dark Sister flared to life,
discharging a massive wave of aura that shattered the demon’s grip.
Frey lunged back, gaining his freedom.
The instant he was clear,
he gathered every spark of remaining energy in his Dantian
and unleashed it in a single, desperate strike.
"Ten Thousand Steps of Shadow...
Frey Starlight Style...
Nameless Judgement!"
The firmament seemed to detonate.
Frey’s Nameless Judgement, merged with the devastating Black Hole Aura
and the synchronized power of his swords,
engulfed Wesker completely...
the same world-shaking power that had once cleaved the moon in two.
The explosion ripped through the sky,
dyeing the blood-red clouds a deep violet,
annihilating every celestial orb Wesker had summoned.
The earth trembled as streaks of purple lightning tore across the horizon,
evaporating everything they touched.
Then, from the heart of the destruction,
Frey plummeted toward the earth...
breathing heavily, his body shaking as he struggled to remain conscious.
Wesker’s lingering aura continued to burn through his skin,
refusing to dissipate.
His injuries were severe,
his flesh charred and bleeding,
and not a single wound showed signs of Cultivation healing.
Even for someone of his level,
that final move had cost him nearly everything.
It had been the only way to escape the demon’s clutches.
Lifting his gaze to the violet-stained heavens,
Frey tried to steady his ragged breathing,
knowing deep down that even such a blast wouldn't be enough to end Wesker.
His worst fears were realized...
when the demon’s voice once again washed over the shattered sky.
"That wasn't quite what I was hoping to see."
The resonance of Wesker’s voice filled the air,
followed by a shockwave that seemed to tear the very fabric of reality.
The clouds of aura that had filled the sky were swept away,
replaced by a new, terrifying glow...
a crimson light,
forming the shape of a colossal red eye staring down at the world.
Beneath this vision, Wesker floated serenely,
his physical form mangled and nearly destroyed by Frey’s ultimate technique.
But as the giant eye shifted...
focusing its gaze directly upon him...
the demon’s broken body began to knit back together in seconds,
the horrific wounds vanishing as if they were never there.
Wesker stood restored... smiling, perfect, and reborn.
"If you refuse to bring forth more of Nameless’s power...
then you have only yourself to blame for what follows."
He laughed,
extending his arm toward the chaotic battlefield below...
toward the Imperial troops still fighting the surviving Ultras.
A split second later, a blinding flash occurred.
Entire battalions were erased from existence by a mere flick of Wesker’s finger.
He was playing with them...
treating their lives as simple tools
to goad Frey into surpassing his limits.
It was now painfully clear...
even with Snow’s help,
Frey had no way to defeat the Fourth Seat.
The gap in their power was simply too vast to bridge.
In that theater of war, soaked in blood and chaos,
nothing remained... but pure despair.
Observing from a distance,
his weathered hand gripping a mostly empty flask,
Lord Mergo let out a long, heavy sigh.
"So this is the grim reality, Frey Starlight..."
he whispered to himself.
"Humanity stands no chance... not against such monsters."
He took another slow, deliberate swallow,
his voice trembling with exhaustion and defeat.
"You really should have taken my offer, boy...
instead of allowing this catastrophe to happen."
The elderly lord had foreseen this outcome.
He had known it was coming...
the demon’s trap had been set from the very beginning.
"If there are truly gods watching over us..."
Mergo murmured, looking up at the blood-colored sky,
"...then I hope they show us mercy...
for the future is void of light,
and filled with nothing but endless darkness."