THE VILLAIN'S POV Chapter 863 A King’s Return (1)

"This is the end… Shadow Sect warrior."

After standing his ground against one of the most formidable demonic entities, a bearer of the Hell Duke title at its zenith, the tables had decisively turned, leaving Alexander Rybak in a most unenviable predicament.

Maskith, who had initially relied solely on his aura, suddenly unleashed an entirely different dimension of power – a murky, gray energy intertwined with flickering blackness, crackling like ferocious lightning in the oppressive darkness. Its presence was subtle, almost imperceptible compared to his aura, barely enough to ensheath his hand.

Yet, the beam it projected was of impossible swiftness, achieving what none of his prior assaults could. This dark gray ray bored directly through Alexander's chest, carving an unspeakably grotesque aperture that revealed the void beyond his very being.

Alexander slowly moved his hand through the void within his own body, a mask of utter disbelief etched upon his face. His once absolute, indestructible form... violated by a single, seemingly insignificant strike. It was a profound shock to the proud warrior of the Shadow Sect.

From a distance, Wesker observed in stunned silence. "What… is that power?" he questioned, his gaze fixated on the dissipating gray beam, utterly unable to grasp its nature. No matter how intently he scrutinized, no matter how deeply he delved into analysis, even the legendary Eye of the King could not decipher this force. It was a power that existed far beyond his current understanding or domain.

"You fought with commendable valor," Maskith stated calmly, advancing closer. "Had this confrontation been decided by aura alone… you would have undoubtedly emerged victorious."

"But the world, Shadow Sect warrior, is vastly more extensive than your imagination permits, and beings like yourself perceive but a mere fragment of its true scope." As the peculiar gray energy gradually faded, Alexander swayed precariously, hands pressed against his wound, struggling to maintain his corporeal integrity.

No blood seeped from the wound… his very form was forged from the same abyssal substance that had once consumed Frey within the confines of the tomb. Nevertheless, the absence of bleeding offered no solace from the excruciating pain. He felt it all. Every iota of damage inflicted. Every splintering fracture across his existence.

Maskith and Wesker converged, set on delivering the final, decisive blow, while Alexander fought valiantly against encroaching unconsciousness, caught entirely unaware by this new threat. He knew he had lost. That much was clear. The moment Maskith had breached his defenses… the moment that fatal strike connected.

That ghostly gray energy… it felt akin to death itself – an obliterating force that erased all in its path. With colossal effort, Alexander lifted his head, his gaze sweeping over his adversaries… before his eyes slowly drifted back towards the distant tomb behind him. The resting place of his king.

His azure eyes blazed with an inferno, his teeth grinding audibly as he forced himself to draw breath. With a trembling determination, he released his grip on his chest… revealing the gaping maw without reservation… and clenched his fists anew. Ready to engage once more.

The sheer sight of it left both Maskith and Wesker momentarily stunned. "You still intend to fight… even now?" Maskith inquired icily. With a flourish of his staff, he unleashed a torrent of dark aura, Wesker promptly joining with a deluge of shadows, enveloping Alexander within a suffocating tempest of blackness.

Maskith eschewed further use of Aether… the battle, in his assessment, was already concluded. "Finish him, Wesker," he commanded, his attention drawn to the distant tomb. "I shall attend to what lies beyond." His form shimmered with potent energy as he prepared to depart… but he abruptly halted.

A colossal wave of crushing aura slammed into him, arresting his movement mid-action. Pivoting sharply, his expression darkened as he witnessed a cataclysmic eruption of power that obliterated both his and Wesker's coalescing assaults. Alexander Rybak had broken free.

His entire being was wreathed in roaring blue flames, his very essence consumed by a savage, unrestrained aura. With a bestial roar, he unleashed his formidable presence… a pressure that radiated outwards for dozens of miles in mere moments. "You're not going anywhere… none of you are!!!"

His anguished cry ripped across the ravaged battlefield, his metallic integument groaning and cracking under the immense, unbearable strain. This… was his final stand. The ultimate defiance of a warrior prepared to expend everything… his life, his body, his very existence… solely to impede their progress. Even if only for a fleeting second. Even for a single, drawn-out breath.

Should he succeed in delaying them for that duration… he would embrace oblivion without a hint of hesitation. It should have been a sight evoking pity. Yet, neither Maskith nor Wesker felt an iota of sympathy. Only a profound sense of dread washed over them.

Alexander's aura detonated outwards, compressing into an oppressive force that immobilized them both. They were rendered immobile. He could not launch an attack… all he could do was hold them ensnared… just a moment longer. Yet, precariously balanced on the precipice of annihilation, his final, desperate act managed to ensnare two incredibly powerful beings… one at the apex of SSS-rank, and another at its fifth stage.

Beneath that immense, suffocating pressure… Maskith let out a resonant laugh. "Incredible, warrior… truly magnificent." With tremendous effort, he brought his arms together, bracing against the overwhelming force.

"Is this sheer will alone…?

Or something far deeper?"

Slowly, he began to tap into that forbidden power once more...

Aether began to coalesce in his grasp as he waged war against Alexander's overwhelming aura.

"Such loyalty… worthy of respect."

His voice became colder.

"Allow me to honor it… by ending you with my strongest attack."

The old man braced himself,

expelling the unstable negative energy once more...

a power that proved destructive even to himself.

And yet…

He made the choice to use it.

As a final tribute to the warrior standing before him.

The shadowy, dark energy flared violently between Maskith's hands...

then surged forward with terrifying velocity, rending the very air toward Alexander.

Aether carved a direct path through Alexander's crushing aura pressure,

dispersing it with absurd ease… until it finally reached him.

This time, Maskith's target was the head—intent on concluding everything with a single blow.

For a fleeting moment, both he and Wesker witnessed it...

the vision of the Shadow Sect warrior's head vanishing from existence.

Within their minds… he was already defeated.

But reality… presented a different narrative.

At the critical final moment, a second gray beam burst forth from nothingness...

identical in nature to Maskith's own... and met it head-on before impact.

The two forces consumed each other, disappearing in a deafening detonation.

Maskith's eyes widened almost to bursting at the spectacle...

his own power… turned back against him.

Wesker's expression grew grim as the realization dawned... someone else had joined the fray.

Maskith's veins pulsed, his eyes burning with fervent intensity.

Wesker instinctively took a step back.

The reason was simple...

a masked figure now stood between them and Alexander… having materialized from thin air.

'What the hell is happening…?'

The demon could not fathom it.

He sensed nothing. Not even a whisper of aura.

He could see him… but the Eye of the King was incapable of perceiving him.

No data. No reading. Absolutely nothing.

Because it could no longer comprehend what it was observing.

Hovering in the air, Frey had finally made his entrance…

catching Alexander Rybak's broken form, preventing his fall.

Alexander gazed at his king, his once blazing eyes now dimmed and weakened—

yet undeniably filled with relief upon glimpsing him.

"My lord… I—"

"Don't speak. Not a word, Alexander… you've done more than enough."

Frey's gaze held serenity… and a warmth Alexander felt profoundly.

Gently placing his hand over the grievous wound on Alexander's chest,

a subtle smile formed beneath the mask.

"I refuse to accept the loss of a great warrior… and a cherished friend.

So do not perish, Alexander. Live… and stand by my side."

With a single fluid motion, a gray energy emanated from Frey's hand...

but unlike Maskith's, this energy pulsed with a crimson luminescence… vibrantly alive.

Maskith stared at it, his expression contorting in ways previously unseen.

"Positive energy…"

A power far exceeding anything servants could ever command…

had manifested before his very eyes.

In one seamless action, Frey replenished the void within Alexander's chest...

reconstructing his very being within moments, returning him to near perfection.

Life surged back into Alexander's eyes instantly—

even he was astounded, unable to comprehend the event that had transpired.

Once the mending was complete, Frey rested a hand on his shoulder,

patting him lightly before issuing a quiet directive.

"Fall back. The remainder is up to me."