THE VILLAIN'S POV Chapter 816 Tools of War (1)

Time sped by in a flash.

In eras of warfare, folks lose track of days entirely.

Events unfolded at a horrifying speed, and all sensed their steady drift toward oblivion.

Tension—that single word captured humanity's current plight perfectly.

Every individual experienced it deeply.

They sensed the impending clash… would mark the ultimate end.

The decisive showdown on Planet Earth—the one to seal their destiny.

Humanity had never stood so near to triumph before.

Now, they just needed to crush the demon legions under the Host of Nightmares, Amon, plus the lingering Ultras loyal to him.

After Frey's staggering win over Thanatos, morale soared in the Shadow Sect.

His mere existence among them sparked hope and resolve to press on, regardless of their frailty.

Soldiers drilled without cease.

They steeled for mortal combat.

They knew their part in the upcoming fray would stay severely restricted.

SSS-rank warriors would determine the result, not them.

A regular trooper would perish from mere shockwaves of those titans' collisions.

Still, Empire survivors brimmed with grit to join anyway.

Some craved vengeance.

Others yearned to aid—even slaying one foe to feel they'd made a difference.

And some idolized Frey so fiercely they'd charge into hell behind him.

Ex-Temple pupils stayed busy too.

They mingled often with Frey's fellow hero, Snow Lionheart.

Snow stayed ever at the vanguard.

Unlike his shadowy twin, who now favored lurking in darkness.

Since the prior clash with Wesker and the Ultras, Frey hadn't faced his former allies once.

They pondered now and then—

Where had he gone?

What occupied him?

No one could foresee his moves any longer.

He operated on a whole new plane… like a transformed being.

Post-Thantos duel, Frey fully withdrew from command, handing it to Gehrman and fellow human champs.

He viewed himself solely as a tool of battle, favoring solo ops when feasible.

Then, one night…

As night shrouded the realm and the Shadow Sect hushed in the deep hours…

Frey materialized in a shadowy nook of the Sect, strolling amid structures with hands in his long black coat's pockets.

His garb shrouded his full form and flesh.

Black leather gloves masked even his hands.

Only his ashen face and gray-tinged hair showed.

His ebony eyes darkened further.

Subtle shadows haunted underneath.

His face betrayed zero feeling.

Utterly motionless.

Ice-cold entirely.

He strode awhile till hitting a standout Sect edifice.

He entered without pause.

Crossing the threshold revealed a lengthy stair plunging deep underground.

A secret lair nestled in gloom.

Descending, a subtle grin touched Frey's lips.

"Hiding within the folds of the shadows… it suits him perfectly."

He pressed down to a door of black stone.

A tall, odd-formed man lounged nearby.

Before it loomed a huge dark statue, face contorted in fury.

The sitter lifted his gaze to Frey slowly, fixing him with glassy eyes.

Then he dipped his head.

"Welcome, my lord. Forgive me—I did not expect your presence."

It was Adir, Shadow Sect's fourth pillar.

He showed profound deference to Frey.

Frey offered a wry smile at this.

"Raise your head. I am not your Lord."

"Your respect would only be wasted on someone like me."

"Even if you are merely a vessel, Frey Starlight," Adir shot back steadfastly, unyielding.

"That does not change the fact that you are all that remains of our lord."

"Please do not be troubled by how we treat you."

Frey eyed him briefly.

Then nodded.

"Do as you wish. It's your choice."

His gaze turned to the door.

"How is he?"

True curiosity laced Frey's tone.

Adir responded at once, glancing at the door too.

"He is doing well. However, I cannot say whether he will be ready for the coming battle—no matter how fast his progress has been."

"It's fine if he isn't ready," Frey said evenly.

"He doesn't have to fight."

Then he murmured softly:

"I don't want to be forced to use him as well."

Frey's eyes narrowed just a touch, his gaze locked on the void ahead, face etched with an eerie hollowness.

Adir observed him for some moments before voicing his next words.

"Some may regard you merely as a vessel…"

"Yet now you hold those same eyes, as you're aware."

A soft chuckle escaped Frey's lips.

"So that signals I'm becoming an emotionless machine."

He advanced a step and thrust the door ajar.

"And I hardly fancy that as my destiny."

Without seeking clearance from Adir and Angry, the entrance sentinels, he strode right in.

Neither made any move to block him.

And even had they wished to, they couldn't—the vast power disparity made it impossible.

Once Frey vanished within, Adir lifted his elongated arm, inspecting it in quiet contemplation.

Since his clash with Wesker, his vessel had never been in such dire shape.

So wrecked that combat remained out of reach until repairs were done.

Gehrman alone matched that ruin, having overtaxed himself in the prior fight.

The Shadow Sect faced the next battle without them both, stripping away a huge chunk of its fighting might. Fulghor stood as the only one with his strength fully intact.

Fulghor differed from the rest—he'd never perished, keeping his true form untouched.

He counted among the rare loyalists who trailed Nameless by choice, never brought back by his hand.

A mere handful of supreme fighters would decide the looming clash, and Frey loomed as potentially the pivotal one, destined for a head-on duel with the foe's top powerhouse.

"It will be a difficult battle…" Adir murmured under his breath.

Angry, meanwhile, kept his typical silence.

Deep anxiety and foreboding gripped them both as they braced for the strife ahead.

Frey pressed onward into the depths.

A massive vacant expanse unfolded before his eyes.

The full subterranean domain extended ahead, adorned with radiant blue blossoms and those gleaming in intense crimson hues.

This otherworldly, dreamlike realm stunned him briefly, leaving him to marvel at flowers thriving underground.

Yet soon his focus snapped to the distant figure perched at the chamber's heart.

A youth—roughly Frey's age.

Black-haired.

And clearly slimmer than Frey.

A face absent from his sight for ages.