I Have 10,000 SSS Rank Villains In My System Space Chapter 392: Final Showdown

"What else is there to say?" Razeal murmured, devoid of intensity or aggression. His voice carried a weary, hollow resonance that unsettled the air more than any outburst ever could. His frame had lost that rigid posture of wrath; instead, his shoulders slumped as if the immense burden of his history had finally crushed his spirit. "You spoke your truth clearly. You prioritized consistency over my life."

"No!" Selena shrieked in immediate protest, her voice fracturing mid-sentence under the weight of her desperation. "That isn’t it! You have it all wrong!" She appeared frantic, like a traveler witnessing the collapse of the only path remaining to them. "How could you even entertain the idea that I would choose anything over you?"

Tears rolled down her cheeks in uninterrupted rivers, and she abandoned all pretense of wiping them away. Her hands jittered rhythmically at her sides, grasping at the empty air as if trying to reclaim words that had betrayed her. "I never prioritized consistency," she sobbed. "I didn't account for… that. I never once considered that you would try to end your own life. It wasn't even a possibility in my mind. I merely believed the situation would eventually de-escalate. I only thought I needed extra time to calm the storm."

She labored to catch her breath, struggling to express what had long remained buried. "So many forces were converging at once. The public accusations were relentless. The court’s eyes were fixed upon us. The empire itself was watching. I convinced myself that if I had intervened while you were being sentenced, my plea would have been dismissed as a desperate ruse. They would have claimed I was merely panicking or lying to protect a lover. They would have twisted my words to deepen your torment."

She locked her gaze onto his, desperate for a sliver of empathy. "Even the truth requires evidence to be accepted. If I had rushed forward to deny the charges, they would have only accused me of fabricating stories out of affection. They would have painted you as even more loathsome, and it would have been impossible to stop the fallout. I convinced myself that maintaining a consistent front would at least keep the consequences from spiraling further."

Her voice descended into a fragile tremble. "Had I known you were contemplating such extremes... had I suspected you were on the verge of taking your own life... perhaps I would have made a different choice. I can't be sure. I might have thrown myself before the court, no matter the disbelief. Perhaps they would have listened only after my death. But I was blind. I didn't know you were… at that point."

She truly had been in the dark.

Yet, she held onto one certainty: she had never intentionally chosen 'consistency' over him.

Behind him, Celestia’s hands tightened into white-knuckled fists. She, too, remembered that day. She recalled her own paralysis and the excuse she fed herself—that interference would only complicate matters. She had convinced herself that pain was fleeting and that a shattered reputation could be mended. She knew that intervening was a grave risk, both for her standing and for his. So, she had retreated.

They were both devastated by his suffering. But they occupied positions of immense power where even deep wounds could be mended; they had deemed it a temporary crisis.

She, too, had never factored suicide into the equation. She couldn't say if she would have followed Selena's path, but she knew she would have taken drastic action to stop him. Regardless of public opinion, she would have pulled him from that place. His life, after all, mattered more than any status.

She had been naive back then, failing to grasp the gravity of the situation. Had she realized the true danger, she never would have hesitated.

Everything had simply moved too fast. The trial, the public disgrace, the political maneuvering—it had all happened in a blur. They were young, elevated, and dangerously naive, assuming every problem could be smoothed over.

They had been profoundly mistaken.

Was it merely wretched luck, or a cruel fate? She couldn't say. Events unfolded too rapidly for them to react effectively.

And now, he stood before them, convinced they hadn't cared at all.

Celestia choked on a sob, silent tears tracking down her sorrowful face. She offered no defense, lacking the fortitude to contest his perception. He viewed the world through the eyes of the one who had been dismantled, and she could not protest that his anger was justified. It was his prerogative.

Razeal merely shook his head with heavy resignation. He was done with excuses. To him, they were all indistinguishable: "I didn't mean it," "I thought it would be fine," "I didn't know." They offered nothing but the hollow shell of regret.

And that apathy disappointed him more than any outburst of malice ever could.

He had ceased waiting for something genuine.

Yet, the most infuriating realization was that even now, seeing Selena fractured and Celestia weeping, a part of him still felt the ache of concern.

He loathed that weakness.

It disgusted him that looking at them stirred something from within—the memories of their shared youth, the unspoken promises, the old bonds. That reaction angered him far more than their tears did.

It proved that he hadn't successfully severed those ties.

He craved that final, clean detachment.

He desired true, icy numbness.

Instead, he felt only a toxic cocktail of fury, betrayal, exhaustion, and a strange, unwelcome pulse of grief.

"Do you know why I pulled back the last time?" Razeal inquired, his voice steady, carrying a lethal weight that trumped any shouting. The silence died instantly, and both women gazed at him, their faces swollen and eyes wide with a mix of dread and flickering hope, awaiting the blow of his next words.

He paused, his crimson eyes drifting to a void only he could perceive. "My anger was my tether," he remarked eventually. "I realized I didn't want the silence of death. I wanted those responsible to regret their actions. Everyone involved."

There was no triumph in that admission—only the frigid light of clarity.

"At one point," he went on, "I decided that if the world insisted on calling me a monster, I would embrace it. I would become the entity that could survive such cruelty, fully deserving of the title they had bestowed upon me."

Selena’s breath hitched, her lungs feeling as though they were filled with lead. "No... I never wanted this for you," she sobbed. "Please, don't say that. You aren't that. Don't let our failure craft your identity. You never deserved this. We were the ones in the wrong." Her confession dissolved into unbridled sobbing, and she bit her lip until it bled, punishing herself for the words she had spoken.

Razeal glanced at her, his gaze drained of its former fire. "I know," he whispered. "Eventually, I understood that. You people didn't deserve that outcome either. I won't let your faults define my soul." He exhaled slowly. "That is why I am not that. Not yet."

"That’s good," Selena stammered, nodding quickly, clinging to the sliver of relief. "That is... that is good." Yet her voice remained brittle. She stood in the gap between them, paralyzed by the fear of making everything worse.

Several agonizing seconds crawled by.

"I can't undo it," she finaly stated, her voice small but piercing the tension. "I cannot erase my past actions. I cannot reverse the lashes, or the exile, or the nights you spent wishing for death." Her red-rimmed eyes met his. "But if I can do anything now—even if it is just bearing the weight of my own guilt instead of fleeing from it—I will."

"I will do anything. You need only ask."

"You cannot fix this," Razeal interrupted, shaking his head. "You think you actually can?" He snapped, sudden static electricity arching in his frustration. "After the life you put me through? No one can fix this. No one." His voice climbed, the suppressed rage threatening to boil over. "You cannot rewrite the past. It happened, and that is all there is to it!"

His words were raw and jagged, fueled by years of suppressed bile. He felt the familiar surge of heat—the irrational, overwhelming need to shatter the air, to curse, to vent the fury he had carried since that day. He felt as if scream might finally purge the poison from his veins.

Before he could fully spiral, however...

A hand touched his.

It wasn't a grab; it was a gentle, settling pressure.

Razeal paused, shifting his gaze slowly.

Sofia stood at his side. Maria was cradled safely in one arm, while her other hand reached out to clasp his. The touch was simple, fragile, and immensely grounding. Her fingers rested lightly, not demanding, but radiating a steady warmth.

She looked up at him—her eyes void of accusation or demand, reflecting only a profound, silent understanding. She had heard everything. She had pieced together the tragedy. And her gaze betrayed neither shock nor judgment—only a deep, piercing sorrow for his suffering. And something else.

Support.

Yet, she kept herself reigned in.

"It is alright," she spoke softly. "I am right here with you." Her thumb grazed his knuckles, a subtle gesture of comfort.

"Let it go," she suggested gently. "They are not worth the price of your peace."

Her tone was devoid of venom. It was quiet, calm.

She felt no hostility toward the two women, merely an protective, mournful grace born of understanding the trauma he had endured.

Razeal studied her for a long moment. The fire in his eyes didn't vanish, but it mellowed. He inhaled slowly, the tension in his frame beginning to unravel. Only then did he realize he had been locking his jaw so tightly it ached.

She was correct.

Why continue to scream? Why strip himself bare before them again? What purpose did it serve? Closure had long ago abandoned him. Justice? That train had already departed. He had no use for their apologies or their guilt.

He gave a slow, singular nod.

Behind them, Celestia and Selena observed the interaction in hushed silence.

They both recognized it instantly.

The way his hostility folded under Sofia’s touch. How he listened to her without resistance. How her presence anchored him in a way they no longer possessed the power to reach.

Selena’s chest tightened—a sharp, psychic pain. Not out of jealousy, but from the brutal realization that another woman now occupied the space she had once held. Someone else possessed the ability to bring him peace. Someone else could save him from his darkness.

It was a spot she had forfeited by her own hand, and the realization was soul-crushing.

Selena dared not speak or move; what could she possibly offer now?

Celestia, however, kept her eyes locked on Sofia’s hand resting upon Razeal’s. She struggled to maintain the imperial composure she had cultivated since birth, but her eyes betrayed her. They dwelt on the quiet vulnerability of the gesture—the way Sofia held him with total certainty, and the way Razeal accepted it. That silent, shared understanding between them weighed more heavily than any accusation he had barked earlier.

Celestia bit her lip until the sensation of pain gave her a temporary anchor. She nodded to herself, a silent agreement with an invisible arbiter. Then, perhaps through the lens of desperation, or perhaps fearing the final distance growing between them, the words escaped her lips before she could rescind them. "I am sorry," she said, her voice unsteady but resolute. "I know it isn't the right moment, but I must say it. I am ready to finally marry you." She stared directly at Razeal, offering the last piece of herself she truly possessed.

The declaration had barely left her lips before the air ignited.

A sharp, deafening slap cracked through the silence.

Pah!

The strike was sharp and piercing.

Celestia’s head jerked to the side from the kinetic force. She had raised no barrier. She hadn't even flinched to mitigate the impact. A red imprint bloomed vividly on her pale cheek. Slowly, with agonizing deliberation, she turned her face back to look at them.

Sofia stood before her.

In the heartbeat between the declaration and the strike, Sofia had released Razeal’s hand. She had crossed the distance instantly and acted without hesitation. Her eyes burned—not with wild fury, but with something far more stinging. They were wet, shimmering with emotion, yet cold as tempered steel. There was no political agenda here. Only raw disgust.

"You are absolutely detestable," Sofia said, her voice trembling with conviction. She didn't scream; the calm intensity made the word carry the weight of an execution. She looked at Celestia with pure, visceral scorn. How could she even conceive of such a thing after everything she had done?

Celestia offered no retaliation. She had the power to crush Sofia where she stood, but she remained perfectly still. She merely nodded, the sting still radiating across her skin. "I deserved that," she whispered, her voice heavy with emotion. It wasn't an act; she accepted the penance.

Sofia’s jaw tightened. She shook her head, as if the audacity of the proposal—that marriage could somehow function as a convenient redemptive path, as if vows could scrub away the carnage of the past—was beyond her ability to comprehend. She offered no further words. The disgust in her eyes said all that was necessary.

Then, she pivoted.

"Let’s depart," she murmured to Razeal, returning to his side and clasping his hand more firmly than before. "You don't belong here."

Razeal turned to her, truly observing her—the quiet resolution in her features, the steadiness she offered without requirement. He looked down at their joined hands. The exhaustion remained, but the burning rage had cooled. After a long moment, he gave a slow, singular nod. Then again. "Yes," he whispered. "You are right. I... I do not belong."