THE VILLAIN'S POV Chapter 691: The Dawn That Refused to Die

Emerging from the clutches of blood, ruin, and death’s cold embrace, a crimson butterfly began to weave its ethereal threads around Snow and Frey.

Amidst the chaos of the ongoing war, Frey felt an unusual warmth surge through his physical form during those fleeting moments of combat. It was a gentle heat that ignited a deep sense of longing within his chest. The butterfly’s scarlet filaments slithered through his veins, eventually coiling securely around his heart. The sensation was remarkably comfortable and soothing.

Even though a foreign power had seized control of his body, Frey did not resist; he welcomed the aura and allowed it to flow through him instinctively. Somehow, it felt as though this power had always been a part of him.

"I won’t lose you this time..."

The voice resonated within his very Soul, and Frey captured every word clearly. Although he could not recognize the speaker, the voice felt achingly familiar to him.

His recent clash with Wesker had been a descent into total despair. For a moment, Frey truly believed that everything was lost. Neither his own Cultivation nor Snow’s power had been enough to bridge the gap.

Yet, life had not abandoned him in the dark abyss; a small glimmer of light remained, offering one final opportunity to survive and continue the struggle. In that warm breath of time, Frey’s heart began to beat once more, and a piercing red light sliced through the internal darkness of his world.

Isolated within the void, the butterfly dispersed its magic until it reached Frey, where it hovered before him with a calm, slow grace. In that instant, he felt the surging auras wash over his body, shielding him from the brink of destruction.

Initially, he suspected these were merely hallucinations born of his death throes, but he was no fool; he quickly understood that this was reality.

"Who... are you?" Frey questioned, reaching out toward the butterfly. "Why do you feel so familiar? And why... do I sense you are so far away despite being so close?" he added, desperate to grasp the situation.

The butterfly’s image suddenly dissolved, transforming into a mist that took the shape of a mysterious woman Frey had never encountered before.

"There is no time left, Frey... you must wake up now," the woman commanded. Her voice seemed to engrave itself into his mind as she pressed her hand against his chest. "Wake up... the battle has not ended."

Her touch propelled Frey’s consciousness out of the void, as an unseen force hauled his body back into the physical world.

Gasp!

Back on the battlefield, Frey’s back hit the dirt hard. He sprang up, gasping for air. His breathing was labored, and his chest felt heavy with heat and pressure. His eyes glowed with a red fire, and as he squeezed his fists, a new wave of strength flooded his limbs.

"My aura... it has returned?"

In a miraculous turn of events, the Dantian reservoir that Frey had drained by overextending his Black-Hole Aura was now full. When he tightened his grip, raw power erupted from him. It was nothing short of a miracle.

Frey did not waste time dwelling on his own state; he turned quickly, remembering his comrade nearby.

"Snow!!"

He looked around frantically. Snow had been on the verge of death, and Frey had been powerless to save him moments ago. The prospect of losing him had left a deep scar on Frey’s spirit. Snow was like a brother to him; he could not accept his death.

However, the nightmare Frey anticipated had not come to pass. Instead, Snow was sitting up next to him, staring at Frey in total shock, unable to comprehend his own survival.

"Frey... I..." Snow stammered, his body wavering. Frey caught him immediately to keep him from collapsing.

As he held him tight, Frey could clearly sense Snow’s aura and strength; his friend had been restored.

"Is this a dream... haha... I’m actually still alive, Frey," Snow remarked, stunned by the turn of fate. Wesker had nearly destroyed him, and Snow had felt the touch of the grave. Yet, destiny had other plans, and the White Knight of the land would live to fight again.

"Yes... you are alive. Our work isn't done yet."

Together, Frey and Snow stood up on the battlefield. Though they were still scarred and weary, the mysterious aura that had appeared out of nowhere had granted them a second wind.

"We can still fight," Frey declared, summoning Balerion and the Dark Sister once more, while Snow unsheathed the Vermithor.

"What is happening? Where did Wesker go?" Snow asked, still disoriented. Frey was equally uncertain; he only knew that a third party had intervened to trap Wesker, leaving only the Ultras—Beatrice, Belith, Simon Manus, Mergo, and the rest—as their immediate threats.

"Let us focus on the enemies right in front of us first," Frey said, preparing to dive back into the slaughter.

Before they could strike, a massive explosion rocked the vicinity. The void itself shattered like glass as the barrier cast by Adyr of the long arms was blown apart. In that moment, the brutal conflict that had been hidden within the field was revealed to everyone.

The air was filled with thousands of thunderous blasts, clashing clouds of aura, and whistling projectiles as two monsters tore into one another in close quarters. Then, a voice boomed across the battlefield for all to hear.

"Hahaha!!! Adyr!! You cannot defeat me!!" Wesker bellowed, his body radiating a dark aura as he launched an assault on Adyr, who met every strike with equal ferocity.

Adyr, the man with the long arms, appeared terrifying and grotesque. Dozens of hands had sprouted from his elongated limbs, allowing him to control aura and execute various combat techniques simultaneously with every palm.

"You will not leave this battlefield as the victor, Wesker. This land still possesses its own defenses."

Adyr let out a roar, creating an aura vortex that consumed every attack Wesker threw his way. Wesker responded by calling forth four massive black giants that stood as tall as mountains. With a single swing of their gargantuan swords, they crushed the vortex.

Yet, in the following heartbeat, Adyr summoned hundreds of massive aura blades that sliced through the void, shredding the giants in a tempest of carnage. The fight was pure chaos. Unlike his previous skirmish with Snow and Frey, Wesker was now fighting with his full, unbridled power.

Frey and Snow had been ready to attack the Ultras, but the collapse of Adyr’s domain made them pause.

"That cursed demon is still standing... and he still has plenty of strength left," Frey whispered. Even without the King’s Eye, Wesker remained a terrifying opponent.

"But... if we team up with him, we might stand a chance."

Adyr had managed to hold Wesker back. Frey viewed this as a rare chance to finally kill the loathsome demon. While he and Snow were not at their full potential, they could still contribute significant damage.

Snow nodded in agreement; he was thinking the exact same thing. But before they could leap forward to assist Adyr...

That voice returned to their minds.

"Do not engage him. You are not strong enough. Not yet."

"That voice..." Snow’s eyes widened as he recognized the sound, while Frey remained silent. It was the same entity that had rescued them from the brink of death.

"A warrior from the Shadow Sect cannot kill Wesker. He can only hold him back for a short time."

Adyr was undeniably powerful, but his physical vessel was compromised. He was unable to use his true strength. Even with the help of Frey and Snow, a victory was far from certain. In fact, failure was the most likely outcome. That was the warning she was giving them.

"Wesker is no fool. A Rank 4 Demon who has survived since ancient times cannot be cornered so easily."