Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives Chapter 1938: Handprints

Villain Ch 1938. Handprints

They all paused.

The torchlight flickered against the now-open door, revealing only darkness beyond. No sound. No wind. No hint of movent.

"...Uh," Red_King said slowly. "Look. It’s an automatic door."

Allen didn’t even blink. "There’s no such thing as automatic doors here. This isn’t a sci-fi ga."

Red_King gave a weak laugh. "Just... take it as an automatic door, okay?" His voice sounded like a guy begging his logic to win.

Allen stared for a second. "...Fine. Automatic door."

Mastercraft clapped Red_King’s back. "Now get inside the automatic door, tank."

"How about no?" Red_King shot back. "A door opens by itself and you idiots want to walk through? That’s how you die first in movies."

"If this was real life, yeah—run the other way," Allen said calmly. "But this is a ga. Doors don’t open themselves unless it’s the way forward."

Red_King exhaled, deeply, soulfully. "I hate that you’re right."

He stepped forward with all the enthusiasm of a man walking into his own funeral.

Inside was a ballroom.

Or what used to be one.

Chandeliers dangled like broken ribs. Instrunts—cellos, violins, flutes—floated mid-air, strings worn and warped, but they played. Just enough notes to crawl up your spine and whisper to your brainstem... ’run.’

A dozen undead nobles danced slowly. Their faces were skeletal, yet their torsos still dressed in moth-eaten tuxedos and blood-sared gowns. No eyes. Just glowing sockets.

The mont Allen stepped inside, their heads all turned at once.

"Here we go," he muttered, drawing both daggers. "Dinner music’s over."

The horde charged. And Allen moved.

He blinked forward in a flash of shadow, slipped between the first dancer’s grasp, pivoted, and stabbed upward through its jaw in one clean motion. His left hand snapped down, slicing the ankle of a lunging corpse. He spun low, dodging a flailing cane, then vaulted backward onto the grand piano, kicking one ghoul mid-air as it leapt.

Red_King shouted, "Holy shit!" from the hallway.

Mastercraft whistled. "That was five in three seconds."

Alex whispered, "Wow..."

They all said it together. "Wow."

Allen snarled, blades dripping. "Again?! Quit wow-ing and help !"

Red_King leaned on the doorfra like he was spectating a sports match. "Hey, I wanted to see how you fight! You never post clips!"

"I don’t post clips!" Allen shouted, flipping off the balcony rail into a mid-air slash that split a baroque chandelier and two ghosts.

Alex clapped politely and nodded.

The rest of the party finally joined in... after Allen had cleaned up most of it.

The ballroom fell into silence.

The floating instrunts were gone. The chandeliers had stopped swaying. The eerie music faded into the walls like it never existed.

It had taken Allen under two minutes. Silent dashes. Precise slashes. Nothing wasted. He didn’t even activate a major skill, just natural flow, step, cut, kill, vanish.

And now?

He turned to them slowly.

Brows furrowed. Jaw clenched.

Then—glared. Full-on.

"If you guys wow at one more ti and just watch like you’re in a damn Twiitch stream, I’m quitting," Allen said, voice flat with a hint of demonic wrath. "Deadass. Don’t test ."

Red_King raised both hands like he was getting arrested. "Okay, okay! Geez! Chill out, Mr. I-move-like-a-cutscene."

"Yeah, we get it," Mastercraft muttered, rubbing his neck. "You’re the hot main character. Now can we please move on to the next room before sothing else floats?"

Alex nodded quickly. "Y-Yeah. Moving is good."

Mastercraft walked up to the next door and pressed his hand against it.

-Click!

It opened with a soft chi.

Just stillness.

A prayer chamber.

And in the middle of it—barefoot, draped in a dark tattered gown that dragged like wet ink across the stone floor—stood her.

Her head was tilted sideways, neck bent as if snapped halfway through a prayer. Hair hung limp, black and slick like rotting seaweed, covering most of her face. But what peeked through—

White, bloated skin.

Veins like ink strokes branching down her cheek.

Lips dry, cracked. Almost blue.

Her eyes were lidless. Clouded. Glassy. But they moved. Slowly.

Not blinking. Not alive. Not dead.

Red_King took a step back. "Nope. No. No, sir."

"She’s not attacking," Alex said, confused.

Mastercraft held up a sensor crystal. "Nothing on the radar. But I don’t like this room. It slls like wet silk."

Allen said nothing. His eyes were locked on the corpse-woman. Or ghost. Or whatever thing was trying too hard to pretend stillness.

He stepped forward.

The others hissed. "Dude—!"

He ignored them. Walked slowly.

One step.

Two.

The candles flickered.

Three—

She turned.

Not like a normal turn. Not like a living being.

Her body rotated, bones twisting beneath the gown like her spine had unzipped and realigned. Her face snapped forward, jaw open—not screaming, not growling—just wide. Silent.

Allen froze.

So did ti.

For a split second, his instincts scread at him.

"Allen?" Alex whispered behind him. "Don’t."

The ghost opened her mouth wider. Too wide. No sound ca out.

And yet...

Allen stepped back.

The mont his heel touched the prayer rug—screams. Dozens. From every wall. Hundreds of ghost-hands shot out from the altar, clawing at air, trying to grab, trying to beg. Wailing.

The corpse woman exploded into black feathers and vanished.

The door slamd shut behind them.

Everyone panicked.

Red_King was swinging at air. "WHERE’D SHE GO!?"

"Gone!" Mastercraft shouted, backing into a pew.

"I hate this manor," Alex whispered.

Allen didn’t speak. His hands were still on his daggers, but his eyes—his eyes weren’t on the door.

They were on the ceiling.

Because now?

Handprints were forming above them.

Dozens of them.

Tiny. Large. Twisted. Blackened.

So with too many fingers.

Sars across the soot-dusted ceiling. Impressions of long, crooked fingers scratching from the inside of the stone. Like sothing—or soones—were buried in the walls, desperate to claw out.

The ceiling groaned.

The walls wept.

A faint chorus of sobs echoed from nowhere.

The system pinged.

[Quest Updated]

[Progression Path: Investigate the Manor’s History]

[Sub-Objective: Uncover the identity of "The Lady in Crimson"]

[Warning: Hostility Level Increasing]

[Environntal Corruption: 67%]

[Light sources will begin to fade faster.]