THE VILLAIN'S POV Chapter 737: Prophecy and an Unending Conflict (2)

"The crucible of war instilled a single lesson in me," Abraham declared with a freezing tone.

"Never afford an opponent the opportunity to stand again—regardless of how minuscule that prospect might be."

He lunged forward toward Wesker’s remains without delay, determined to wipe every trace of his existence from the world.

This entire scene played out before Gehrman’s eyes—yet he remained perfectly still.

"Your reasoning is sound, Abraham," Gehrman murmured, turning his gaze toward the heavens.

The previous clash had swept the clouds away, leaving the midnight sky entirely visible—stars shimmered brilliantly around a cracked moon, its fragments vibrating with a peculiar resonance in the firmament.

A profound blue radiance ignited within Gehrman’s eyes, his features settling into a mask of solemn composure and freezing authority.

"The nightmare is set to begin shortly.

Death shall wake.

The King shall arrive.

And the shackles shall be torn asunder."

He lifted his hand, the glow in his eyes intensifying... as if he were delivering a sacred prophecy.

"The equilibrium will fail.

Those closest will fall.

And the conclusion will commence.

The Shattering draws near...

It will be gruesome...

And full of shadows."

"But it is required."

Gehrman tilted his head down, his expression completely hollow of any sentiment.

"The clock is ticking.

In seventy-two days, the Shattering will start.

To ensure its arrival—"

For a fleeting second... Gehrman’s look grew grim.

"This conflict must persist."

Under the canopy of night, Gehrman drifted alone in the air.

Abraham reached Wesker’s corpse in a flash, bringing his blade down in a heavy arc...

Only for his steel to strike something bizarre.

Something freezing.

Something dense.

Something malicious.

Abraham sensed it first—followed by Gehrman, and lastly Frey.

Emerging from within Wesker’s remains, an entity manifested and caught Abraham’s sword in mid-air.

Abraham stopped dead, unable to force his weapon further.

"Is this... a shadow?" he whispered, his brow furrowing as he struggled to understand the source of that hand crafted from pure gloom.

In that moment, a bizarre, alien voice resonated through the air.

"My dim-witted, miserable brother...

You have finally ushered yourself toward ruin."

The voice dripped with malice... sending shivers down the spines of everyone present.

A moment later...

A massive impact hit Abraham, launching him backward until he smashed into the earth far in the distance.

Gehrman drifted down from the sky slowly, while Frey stood rigid and on high alert.

Wesker’s mangled body sank slowly into the darkness until it disappeared entirely...

And in its stead... something different rose.

Gradually, a new form materialized within the darkness.

A demoness appeared... bearing a striking resemblance to Wesker.

Her long tresses were violet, her eyes shimmering with the same tint.

She stood completely bare, her demonic physique fully revealed, with wings and shadows swirling around her without any attempt at modesty.

Her aura was stifling...

Far more oppressive than Wesker’s had ever been.

Her eyes scanned the field of battle in a heartbeat, instantly marking her foes.

"This state of affairs is more dire than I anticipated," she remarked coldly.

Gehrman answered with a calm voice,

"Have you come to rescue your sibling? Truly touching."

He folded his hands together, a small smile playing on his lips.

"I never suspected that demons held family ties in such high regard," he remarked.

"Third-Rank Demon... Vayne."

Gehrman’s taunt caused Vayne’s eyes to narrow as darkness slowly pooled and spread beneath her feet.

"Hold your tongue, dog of the Nameless."

With a simple motion...

The shadows erupted outward with incredible velocity, swallowing the entire region until everyone was standing upon a massive shadow.

The King’s Shadow.

"We of the Greater Demon Ranks are not some prey to be tracked down so easily," Vayne hissed... then she grinned.

"Slaying one of our kind will bring you nothing but ruin."

"You don’t appear startled by my presence. Could it be that you foresaw this?"

In response, Gehrman shut his eyes and gave a soft laugh.

"I have no reply for you. You have revealed your hand far too early... and this struggle has gone on long enough."

"As you wish," Vayne answered in a bone-chilling tone... and then a staggering pressure slammed down upon the vicinity.

For the first time, Gehrman’s brow furrowed as the suffocating weight tightened around him.

"The King’s Shadow provides me with mastery over the dark," Vayne explained. "I placed my essence within my brother’s shadow long ago, preparing for the moment he might face his demise."

"Regardless... I can now emerge from shadows wherever they exist—and I..." Her grin widened before she concluded, "...can pull a few guests along with me through them."

The instant her speech finished, two figures stepped out from her shadow.

Demons of overwhelming power... so intense that the aura grew terrifyingly heavy.

The first was peculiar... not exactly a demon, but something else entirely.

His hair was the color of the sky, his height exceeding two meters... he was broad-shouldered and powerfully built, his frame hidden under a long black cloak that trailed behind him like flickering shadows.

He hauled a massive sword, larger even than his giant body... a blade that seemed less like a sword and more like a slab of solid iron.

It was a countenance Gehrman recognized instantly.

"Rank Nine... Nito."

That was the turncoat of the Pantheon race—Nito of the dragons.

The brute who once held the title of Dragon Emperor serving the First of the Seven Great Powers—the Dragon God Midir—had surfaced today as Rank Nine of the Upper Demons.

However, it wasn't Nito who caused Gehrman to scowl... but the other individual who accompanied him.

A demon—wearing a mask, with a plain build and an unremarkable aura—yet his vibe was completely distinct.

He donned a jester’s mask carved with a wide smirk, showing nothing except his blood-red eyes.

He walked forward immediately, moving past Vayne to stand at the front as if he were the one in charge.

"Rank Eleven... the Host of Nightmares, Amon."

Foes had appeared out of thin air, and the Shadow Sect’s situation had once again turned precarious.

Abraham stood up, his mind focused only on the safety of his children.

Frey, meanwhile, ground his teeth, fighting to keep his power in check... fully aware that he might be pulled into the fight at any moment.

As for Gehrman, he was the only one who remained unperturbed, standing composed before these uninvited arrivals.

Initially, Vayne appeared to be the one in control... which was expected, seeing as she was the highest-ranked demon on the scene.

Yet, surprisingly, she bowed her head and moved back, yielding the floor to Amon, who stepped into the lead as if this were the natural order of things.

"So... Zibar has perished," Amon spoke from behind his mask, locking his hands behind his back.

"And Wesker, most uncharacteristically, failed his objective. How pathetic." He expressed clear disappointment... followed by a mocking snort from Nito, who crossed his arms with a look of disdain.

"Disgraceful—being defeated by mere mortals and a ghost of a previous era clinging to dead dreams."

At Nito’s insult, Vayne tightened her fist instinctively, clearly irritated.

"It is too soon to discuss failure," she snapped back. "We are present, and we shall finish the task. As long as Wesker bears my shadow, he has not failed."

But Amon held up a single finger in front of his mask... and she became silent instantly.

This interaction sparked many questions regarding the actual chain of command among the Upper Demons.

For some reason, Amon seemed to possess total command... even over those ranked higher than himself.

"Wesker was given one job," Amon went on. "Capture the vessel of the Nameless and wipe out the survivors of the Shadow Sect. He failed both. There are no excuses."

He took a short breath before adding,

"However, I will grant you the opportunity to fix this, Vayne. Right here—slay Saint Gehrman and seize the vessel."

The Host of Nightmares gave his order... and it was evident that this was exactly what Vayne had been hoping for.

In a flash, strands of shadow shot into the air, blocking every escape route for Gehrman and Frey.

"I have been waiting to hear that."

A terrifying grin split Vayne’s face as she rose into the air, releasing a devastating pressure that tore through the surroundings.

Facing that titanic power, Gehrman brought his hands together, a look of exhaustion and annoyance crossing his face.