THE VILLAIN'S POV Chapter 838 The Last Chain Shattered (1)

"Do you happen to grasp… what true death entails?"

Agaroth's voice echoed as he occupied the very heart of the Shadow Sect. Surrounding him were countless dwellings and structures, each serving as a sanctuary for the remnants of humanity within this desolate world.

Frey stood present, yet utterly immobilized.

Despite his attempts to break free, Agaroth conjured a spear formed from an eerie, dark Qi and flung it with deadly accuracy, impaling itself deep within Frey's thigh. A second spear immediately followed, driven into his other leg, effectively pinning him to the very ground.

"My inquiry is straightforward," the King continued in a measured tone. "However, I am confident you will find yourself incapable of providing an answer."

"This is because the very essence of death… holds a profoundly different meaning for those like you and I, when contrasted with them."

Agaroth unfurled his arms, his sable cloak billowing like a living shadow encircling him.

"For them, their demise signifies no more than the obliteration of dried ink… akin to expunging a few inconsequential words from an ancient tome."

"Mere words, whose very existence mirrors their absence. They exert no influence on the unfolding narrative… nor do they alter the fundamental fabric of the story."

"It is for this precise reason… that they can be so effortlessly expunged."

"Their lives amount to nothing."

"And therefore, I am capable of dispatching millions of them… with nary a flicker of hesitation."

He raised his hand.

His shadow expanded once more, engulfing the entirety of the Shadow Sect in its suffocating embrace.

Frey’s comprehension was instantaneous. He grasped the grim implication without delay.

He understood with absolute certainty what was imminent.

A bloodbath was on the precipice of commencing.

And he was rendered powerless to intervene… save to observe.

For Agaroth drove further shadow spears into Frey’s form, binding him completely and preventing any possibility of movement.

"Heed my words carefully," the King commanded.

The shadow spears ascended into the sky, each one impaling scores of individuals simultaneously. They were hoisted high above the Sect, resembling skewered flesh, as if the very world had transformed into a ghastly tableau of carnage.

There was absolutely no resistance encountered. No combat transpired.

The inhabitants of this place were not warriors.

Their sole recourse… was to perish.

One by one, they met their end.

Accompanied by screams, wails, and desperate pleas uttered at the peak of their lungs.

The encroaching shadows swept away even the most formidable among them.

The enforcer known as Angry—a statue of fury—proved utterly helpless against a direct onslaught from the Demon King.

Even Adir and Ghost, who had sought refuge deep underground… did not escape their doom.

The Shadow Sect warrior remained seated, while Ghost stood steadfast beside him.

Both observed in silent resignation, devoid of any discernible emotion, as the spectral shadows surged towards them.

It appeared as though they had already made peace with their impending fate.

Adir offered a faint smile.

Ghost slowly drew his eyelids shut.

"This marks the conclusion of a chapter… a protracted and arduous chapter," Adir remarked with a subtle smile gracing his lips.

Then, he closed his eyes.

And the all-consuming shadows annihilated them both.

"Only a sliver remains… so do not falter now… Gehrman…"

And with that, Adir perished.

Ghost met his demise.

Just as every other human being succumbed, one after another.

The statues crumbled into dust.

All was wiped away, leaving no trace.

Some met their end upon the desolate streets.

Others perished within the privacy of their homes.

The Sect became a canvas painted in hues of crimson and shadow.

Lifeless bodies filled every conceivable Nook and cranny.

The cacophony of screams gradually diminished… fading away bit by bit.

Until an all-encompassing silence descended, claiming everything.

Even the scavenging crows dared not approach, repelled by the terrifying presence of the tyrant who stood resolute.

Agaroth shifted his stance slightly once the dreadful slaughter had reached its completion.

"I detect no sign of him… could he be concealed?" the King mused aloud, a subtle smile beginning to form as his pervasive shadows failed to pinpoint the location of the blue-eyed Engineer.

That uncertainty alone served as confirmation.

Gehrman was undoubtedly still devising some scheme.

And Agaroth found this development quite agreeable.

"It renders the situation far more engaging… I only hope he does not prove to be a disappointment."

As the entirety of the Shadow Sect succumbed to flames, Agaroth turned his gaze back towards Frey.

Frey, who had borne witness to the entirety of the devastation.

He had observed a scale of carnage previously unimaginable to him.

And the King had shown no mercy, sparing absolutely no one.

Frey trembled beneath the oppressive weight of the dark spears, desperately attempting to conjure a response, yet finding himself utterly incapable.

He uttered no scream.

He spoke no word.

But his eyes wept a torrent of blood.

Crimson streams poured from the corners of his reddened eyes, the veins within them pulsing with violent intensity.

His mind was plunged into utter disarray.

A profound fragmentation was occurring deep within him.

Even his Kratt body, designed to suppress tumultuous emotions, had begun to overflow its confines.

And yet…

He did not succumb to complete loss of control.

Despite the crushing pressure bearing down upon him—a force sufficient to shatter the sanity of any ordinary man—he persevered.

Observing Frey's resilience, Agaroth's eyes narrowed fractionally.

"Remarkable, you still stand," the King remarked.

"After all that I have subjected you to… you have undeniably undergone a transformation."

"You are increasingly mirroring your other self… the one concealed behind the mask you wear."

"However, it still falls short of what is required."

He extended his hand, palm open.

"You require one final impetus… a decisive strike that will obliterate the last vestiges of constraint binding you… and, by extension, binding me."

With a singular, decisive movement…

The very fabric of space compressed.

Existence itself was violently rent asunder.

Reality inverted its natural order.

And that outstretched hand traversed an unfathomable chasm of distance… ultimately grasping something held far away.

Someone.

Agaroth exerted a powerful pull.

And with that commanding action, he drew forth a young girl possessing hair of a pure, snow-like white.

The final piece.

The last fragment.

The very thing Frey had concealed behind myriad layers of protection, far beyond the Shadow Sect's reach.

Protections that crumbled with trivial ease at Agaroth's sheer intent.

And from beneath their ruins… she was brought forth.

Ada.

Ada Starlight.

She materialized as if from thin air, her countenance etched with shock and terror.

Her gaze fell upon the monstrous figure, a nightmare given form, yet she could not bring herself to meet his eyes, not even for a fleeting second.

Her eyes darted about frantically, seeking any escape, anywhere but him.

And then…

Her vision landed upon Frey.

"Brother…" she choked out, her voice betraying a tremor as Agaroth set her down with unnatural gentleness, permitting her to stand.

"This is the final component," Agaroth declared.

"I trust this will provide the impetus you require."

A subtle undertone laced his words.

As if even he was uncertain of his course should this endeavor prove fruitless.

But Frey remained oblivious to Agaroth's pronouncements.

His gaze was utterly fixated on his sister.

"Ada…" he managed to rasp, his voice strained, his throat ravaged – unable to mend itself due to the destructive nature of Agaroth's assaults.

The Demon King raised his hand once more.

Shadows converged around him.

And within their swirling depths—

A piercing, obsidian blade took shape.

Then, without the slightest hesitation, his hand extended… offering the blade to Ada, who accepted it under duress.

She quivered, consumed by dread, wholly unable to comprehend the unfolding events.

She attempted to retreat from the terrifying entity, but her limbs refused her command.

They were under his dominion.

A peculiar enchantment had ensnared her, rendering Ada a mere puppet in his grasp.

This was not the first instance of Agaroth employing such a tactic.

However, this time… he had opted to maintain her consciousness.

The blade was cradled in her trembling arms, her strength barely sufficient to lift it, poised in anticipation of his directive.

The King, however, did not prolong her agony.

"End your own life."

Agaroth eschewed the act himself.

He did not wish to sully his hands with her blood, hands already irrevocably stained with the life essence of all humanity.

Ada complied.

With deliberate slowness, she brought the blade around, angling it towards her own neck, her hands spasming uncontrollably.

Tears cascaded down her cheeks, a tempest of fear and sorrow mirrored in Frey's visage, who writhed helplessly, his anguish palpable.

The cold edge of the blade made contact with her skin.

Initially… with a feather-light touch.

A delicate crimson line appeared, tracing a gentle path down her neck… and onto her bosom.

Time seemed to dilate, each moment stretching into an eternity.

Under the King's impassive gaze, who observed with detached amusement.

And under Frey's tormented eyes… ablaze with an inferno of pain.

It was a spectacle of suffering too profound for any soul to bear.

So unbearable, in fact, that some were driven to desperate measures to avert it.

Among them—

Fulghor.

The formidable warrior.

A broken, pitiable combatant who launched himself forward, his form battered, half his face a mask of gore, his long crimson locks whipping wildly behind him as his helmet was obliterated.

In his hand, he conjured a spear of gleaming gold from the final vestiges of his dissipating aura.

He made a valiant attempt to intervene.

To halt the horrifying tableau unfolding before him.

Yet, his efforts were utterly in vain.

A legion of shadowy serpents erupted through his body, impaling him countless times in a single, brutal instant.

Ebon tendrils seized Fulghor's mangled corpse, hoisting it skyward.

Life ebbed away from his eyes, a slow, inevitable retreat.

And the last image etched into his fading consciousness…

Was a brother forced to witness his own sister's self-inflicted demise.

"This… is an abomination… such a thing should never occur…" Fulghor struggled against the shadowy tendrils, his voice a distorted echo of despair and rage.

Even in his final moments, he strained to break free… to offer aid.

But his struggle was futile.

Fulghor met his end.

From Frey's perspective…

The world dissolved into a monochrome of red.

Blood overwhelmed his vision, painting it with an indelible, ink-like stain.

The entirety of existence seemed submerged in a crimson, suffocating darkness.

As though he had plunged into the very abyss of hell.

And yet…

Despite the all-consuming crimson tide that threatened to engulf everything—

Ada's blood maintained its distinct presence.

Vivid.

Unmistakable.

As if imbued with a hue of red utterly unique in all of creation.

The blade sliced deeper into her neck.

The torrent of blood intensified – swifter… heavier… more ghastly.

Until the blade finally exited the opposite side of her neck.

Blood cascaded relentlessly.

From her fractured throat.

From her lips–now unable to utter even a solitary sound.

The light receded from her eyes.

Utter darkness claimed them.

Her arms dropped limply to her sides.

Her body pitched forward, collapsing onto the bloodied blade.

Ada perished.