THE VILLAIN'S POV Chapter 824 The Tide of Black Flame

The war hymns vibrated through the very core of a continent.

Millions upon millions of monstrous entities—

stood opposed by mere thousands of humanity.

If words existed to capture the essence of such a conflict, they would all be steeped in the color of blood.

A crimson tide.

Nothing but filth.

And utter devastation.

The fiends were formidable—unstoppable beings that knew neither fatigue nor cessation.

The primeval demons originating from Helmond were the epitome of monstrous forms.

Hulking figures with skin like ash, their bodies grotesquely distorted, adorned with lengthy horns and expansive wings.

Their eyes, dark pits in their faces.

Visages of pure dread.

Yet, even these horrors paled in comparison to the true terror that stalked the battlefield.

The Ultras, twisted and corrupted by the nefarious Demon Seed.

How many souls from the Empire had already met their end by their mutated hands?

A single, sweeping blow from those corrupted limbs was sufficient to obliterate a human body...

leaving entrails and organs strewn across the earth, a perpetual crimson stain upon the land.

In terms of raw power, the transformed Ultra legions far outmatched the conventional soldiers of humankind.

The elite forces of the Empire and the formidable warriors of the Shadow Sect bridged this chasm...

each of them carving through hundreds of foes.

Still, even with these efforts...

the scales of war began to tip decisively in favor of the demonic legions.

The critical factor was distressingly straightforward.

Maskith had systematically infused the Demon Seed into every Ultra—both their esteemed warriors and their unsuspecting civilians.

An entire populace transformed into instruments of destruction.

In stark contrast, the Empire had mustered merely the tattered remnants of its defensive strength for this engagement.

Abraham fought with unyielding ferocity—

severing the heads of demons, Ultras, and their insidious puppets with every thunderous swing.

The human champions followed in his wake,

driving deep into the demonic formations, relentlessly pursuing the secrets of their origins and their most powerful combatants.

From on high, Snow provided crucial support.

His blade had become an instrument of absolute doom for any demon it encountered.

And yet, despite all these valiant efforts...

the tide of the conflict began to shift towards a grim and horrifying turn.

The demonic forces commenced a slow, deliberate encirclement of the human army.

Their movements were swift—executed with a chilling, coordinated precision.

Before long, the humans found themselves fighting within the suffocating epicenter of a dark, swirling vortex.

Shadows converged from every conceivable direction.

Impetuously—

darkness began to consume all light and hope.

The radiant spirit of humanity started to flicker and fade.

The demonic legions had successfully trapped the Empire's valiant army.

Brave soldiers were perishing at an unprecedented and terrifying rate.

All of this was observable to Frey and his companions as they watched from their vantage point above.

They perceived with stark clarity...

the grim trajectory the battle was taking.

They understood with absolute certainty the dire destination that awaited.

Yet, not a single flicker of emotion betrayed their stoic countenances.

They grasped the unfolding events...

and accepted them with an unnerving calmness, as if such an outcome was preordained.

Fulghor's eyes, gleaming like molten gold, fixed upon Frey and Kalameet for a brief interval,

before his gaze returned to the harrowing spectacle unfolding on the battlefield below.

'At this alarming pace… the human army will not hold for even another hour… They will all fall. Only the pre-eminently strong will endure.'

His grim prognosis proved to be uncannily accurate.

If the current dire circumstances persisted,

humanity faced swift and utter annihilation—

leaving behind solely the most formidable survivors:

the legendary ancient heroes of humankind,

the mighty dragon kings allied with Kalameet,

and, naturally, Abraham himself.

The majority of these paramount figures had deliberately conserved their formidable strength—

particularly Abraham, with the enemy's high-ranking commanders as his intended targets.

But this calculated restraint...

would come at the devastating cost of the entire army.

And that calamitous result—

was entirely within the acceptable parameters for Frey.

However, he harbored no intention of allowing the conflict to conclude so straightforwardly.

"The moment has arrived," Frey declared in a hushed tone, his focused gaze drifting towards a specific individual within the ranks.

Both Fulghor and Kalameet shifted their attention, following his line of sight with palpable curiosity.

Among the ranks of the allied Ultras serving under Mergo's command...

a solitary figure emerged from the formation.

A young man, appearing to be around Frey's own age.

His hair was the color of polished coal.

His eyes burned with a crimson intensity.

A mask, stark white, concealed his features.

"Do not compel me to regret sparing your life… V."

As though his ears had registered those chilling words...

the masked individual's hands trembled around the hilts of his twin swords.

The legendary Moonlight blade.

And the imposing claymore.

He was visibly taut with suppressed tension.

But he drew a steadying breath—

and raised his weapons high above his head.

In those fleeting instants, as the surging demonic army bore down upon him,

his mind involuntarily drifted to distant memories—

replaying the events of the preceding weeks…

ever since Frey Starlight had forcibly brought him into the Empire's embattled alliance.

It had all commenced within the oppressive confines of the Shadow Sect's dungeons.

V had been unceremoniously cast into their depths—

left to languish, awaiting a certain demise.

Yet, death, for reasons unknown, never materialized.

Instead...

Mergo had appeared.

And presented him with an offer: to fight alongside the Empire in the impending cataclysmic battle.

The masked V was never as devoid of compassion as his outward demeanor suggested.

The sole reason he had previously fought and blindly obeyed Gavid Lindman was quite simple.

Gavid held the innocent children from the orphanage where V had grown up as leverage—hostages.

Acting under Frey's calculated directives,

Mergo orchestrated the liberation of the orphanage...

and brought all the children under the protective wing of the Shadow Sect.

However, Frey Starlight had not truly offered them freedom.

He had merely orchestrated their relocation from one form of confinement… to another.

Holding them as potential threats against V...

precisely as Gavid had once manipulated him.

"It is a pact. Nothing more, nothing less."

Those were the precise words Frey had imparted to him.

Their absolute safety would be meticulously ensured.

In exchange for this guarantee…

V would be compelled to traverse the very depths of hell itself.

For in the harrowing days preceding the grand confrontation, he endured an ordeal far worse than the finality of death itelf. He was compelled, day after day, to engage in combat with Frey. Frey showed him no quarter, relentlessly dismantling him time and time again, forcing V into a cycle of imitation to stretch the boundaries of the power he could mimic. This brutal regimen was orchestrated by Nameless, who expressed genuine astonishment at discovering such a potent ability within a mere mortal.

"This human possesses a world-breaking power… yet it is but a pale imitation of true might," Nameless confided to Frey, revealing the existence of an ancient entity, unknown even to Frey himself. This being, it was said, predated the era of Soul Bearers by epochs, a creature of unfathomable origin and unknown race. All that was truly known was that it was a monstrous entity possessing the mind of a child, devoid of any concept of good or evil. A giant, a tyrant, an existence utterly strange and beyond comprehension. And, most terrifyingly of all, it had the ability to perfectly replicate the powers of its adversaries, not a flawed mimicry like V's, but an exact duplication. It could copy skills, elements, and even alter the fundamental structure of its own form. It had been an existence of overwhelming dominance, seemingly unconquerable. Yet, it had vanished from historical records, lost within the currents of time. It was rumored that Agaroth had slain it, but Nameless had concluded otherwise. The Demon King, he reasoned, would never have overlooked such a devastating ability; he would have consumed it without hesitation. The ultimate fate of this being remained shrouded in mystery, a tale for another time.

For the present, "This human is merely an inferior imitation… but he will prove useful." Frey was utterly convinced of this. Thus, countless days were spent locked in brutal combat with V, compelling him to copy, again and again and again. The masked man's power grew exponentially, even as he was pushed to the very precipice of death, the chasm between his strength and Frey's remaining overwhelmingly vast.

Finally collapsing at Frey's feet, trembling uncontrollably, Frey ceased his onslaught. "It seems you've reached your limit. You won't be able to copy any further." As Frey uttered these words, the two stood amidst a colossal crater, as if a meteor had indeed impacted the earth. V shuddered violently, his mouth slick with blood and foam. Frey, seemingly indifferent to V's dire state, continued, "To be honest… the level you've attained is merely passable after all that copying." He added, "Pathetic compared to me… but against demons, you'll be lethal."

Frey advanced slowly, his voice chilling. A warning, the very words V now recalled vividly as he stood upon the battlefield. "During the time you were copying me… I could have killed you thousands of times." "Don't make me regret it, V." "Don't make me regret letting you live." "Prove your worth… and understand this—if you fail…" "…even death won't save you from me." It was both a stark warning and a dire threat. Despite the extreme nature of his final words, Frey had not been disingenuous. Even if V were to perish, he felt a certainty that Frey would find a way to resurrect him, solely to exact his revenge. Furthermore, the children of the orphanage remained entirely under Frey's control. The masked man had become a slave, bound to obey, though he did so unwillingly, having no other choice.

And so, V stepped onto the battlefield. A dark aura began to coalesce around him, black flames igniting across his body, burning with fierce intensity. Then, with a single, precise swing of his blade, he replicated Frey Starlight with astonishing accuracy and overwhelming power. Through the Moonlight sword, he unleashed a torrent of aura that surged like a tempestuous ocean, threatening to engulf the entirety of the demonic host. "Frey Starlight Style: Nameless Judgement!!" Dark flames erupted, consuming both demons and mutated Ultras in a single, devastating barrage. It was a spectacle of formidable power. V transformed into a veritable volcanic force, erupting without cessation, unleashing one sweeping strike after another in every direction, submerging the battlefield in infernal black flames. He wielded incredible strength. Unlike Abraham and the human champions, who deliberately held back, V unleashed his full might from the outset, even if it meant burning himself out.

Ever-increasing torrents of black flames surged forth, his aura ascending to an SSS rank. He swung his blade like a berserker, unceasingly, drawing every eye toward him. That explosive display of controlled madness irrevocably altered the tide of the war. Single-handedly, he shattered the enemy encirclement, exposing vulnerabilities within the demonic ranks. All of this was made possible by his imitation of a being beyond comprehension, and in doing so, he had, in a way, become a monster himself. Far inferior to the original, perhaps, but devastatingly effective against such formidable foes. V's unleashed fury decisively tipped the scales once more...

restoring balance …

as he annihilated astronomical numbers of enemies on his own.

But it lasted only five minutes.

Five minutes—

in which he unleashed countless Nameless Judgement strikes …

until his aura ran dry.

His eyes turned white.

Their light faded.

His body convulsed violently .

every bone in his body shattering and breaking apart .

as he collapsed to the ground, his swords falling from his grasp.

Five minutes…

was the absolute limit he could sustain the power of that monster .

Frey Starlight.

The moment V fell .

Mergo appeared beside him.

He caught him, staring down with an expressionless face.

With a single glance ... Mergo understood the extent of the damage.

V's body had been completely destroyed—

all from attempting to replicate Frey at such intensity.

The result had been extraordinary.

The sea of black flames surrounding them was proof enough ..

he had broken the encirclement alone.

But the cost…

was catastrophic.

His body was ruined beyond repair.

He might never move again for the rest of his life.

All of it—

because of the pressure Frey had forced upon him.

"In such a short time… he pushed him this far…"

Mergo had never seen V fight with such desperation.

Every strike of his blade reflected the deep fear that had taken root within him toward Frey.

Frey had not simply forced him to copy ..

he had tortured him.

Until the young man lost his sanity ..

and erupted into madness ..

achieving exactly the result Frey had intended.

Carrying V away ... Mergo withdrew temporarily, shaken by what he had witnessed.

The only positive outcome was that the Empire could now breathe again.

They could fight on equal footing against the demons once more.

Above—

Frey's expression did not change.

But overall—

he was satisfied.

His Void eyes glowed faintly as he scanned the battlefield once again.

Dark flames now covered a vast area ..

and an enormous number of demons had perished.

From the damage inflicted ..

Frey knew.

The time was near.

His enemies…

would soon make their move.

And that—

was the moment he had been waiting for.