Villain Ch 1843. Worth Dying For
For a while no one speak or make a sound.
Not the silence of peace, but the silence after screaming—when throats were raw, when bodies still remembered the weight of dying, when blood still smeared the stones like wet paint.
Elio's knees gave out. His sword clattered beside him, wings twitching once before folding tight against his back. He collapsed on the cobblestones, chest heaving, the phantom ache of Allen's blade still burning in his chest.
Around him, players slowly respawned in light bursts—some staggering, some groaning, some laughing like they hadn't just been butchered.
The plaza stank of iron and smoke. Blood glistened between the cracks in the stone, the faint hum of vanished relics still buzzing in the air.
Then voices trickled in.
"Ah, I thought I could hold the relic until the end."
"Damn it… just a bit more and we might've pulled it off."
"Shit, I almost made it to the timer."
