Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives
Chapter 1692: Wedding Hell [Part 2]

Chapter 1692: Wedding Hell [Part 2]

Villain Ch 1692. Wedding Hell [Part 2]

There, on a raised platform at the end of the hall, the mechanical groom stood.

He had her.

The bride—bound in a veil of radiant thread, glowing slightly, held fast between two knight-like constructs who bore spears tipped with golden blades. Her hands were chained before her, posture rigid. The veil hid her face, but the tremble in her breath echoed.

Allen’s fingers curled.

The groom stepped closer. Calm. Almost tender. His hands were folded in front of him as if in prayer.

"You have nothing to fear," he said softly. "You were chosen."

The bride didn’t speak at first.

He took another step. "Do you not see? I’ve waited. Prepared. Perfected myself for this union."

Her voice was quiet—but clear. "You cursed them."

The groom stilled.

"You took their names," she continued, "burned their minds into iron. You said it was salvation, but they only scream inside their helmets."

"They are quiet now," the groom said. "Peaceful. Purposeful."

"They’re dead," the bride whispered. "Hollow."

He tilted his head, confused. "You should be grateful."

"I’m afraid."

"You shouldn’t be. I made all of this—for you. My garden. My altar. My very self, reforged into eternity."

"I don’t want it."

"You will," he said, smiling faintly. "I’ll make you understand. You are the purest among all—untainted, perfect. You were made for this."

"I was made for myself," she snapped.

That stopped him.

A beat passed.

Then, slowly, he lowered his hands and walked toward her. "And I was made for you. Only you. Every part of me has been remade to fit beside your radiance."

"I don’t want you," she said.

The groom blinked.

Allen and the others stood quietly at the base of the altar. Tension gripped the air like a coiled whip.

"She’s got backbone," Jane muttered. "I like her."

"Girl’s got guts," Vivian agreed.

"Ew. His attitude though," Zoe whispered. "Like a polite cult leader."

"Polite?" Bella sneered. "He’s like a groomer wrapped in holy scripture."

"Cursed simp energy," Shea muttered.

"He’s giving manipulation with a smile," Alice added.

"Egotistical savior complex," Larissa said dryly.

"Ten bucks says he says the word ’destiny’ before this is over," Vivian grinned.

"I hate this guy," Bella said, nodding solemnly. "Can we unmake his face?"

The groom was still speaking.

"You should cherish this, beloved. I offer you eternity. I offer you meaning."

"You offer chains."

"I offer unity."

"You offer silence."

"I give purpose!"

"You steal names!"

His voice began to rise. The calm tone fractured like glass under heat.

"Why are you like this?" he asked, still smiling but with jagged edges now. "Why can’t you see? I made this for us!"

"I don’t want it."

"You don’t know what you want!"

Allen saw it.

The crack in the groom’s demeanor. Something broke.

The groom stepped forward, arm outstretched, fingers twitching.

"I loved you," he said. "I love you. And you will be mine. You are mine."

The bride flinched, tried to recoil—but the knight constructs held her firm.

"I will give you eternity," he snarled. "With or without your voice."

The veil trembled.

Then he tore it away.

And silence fell.

Her face—

It was Larissa’s.

Not exactly. But enough.

The same hair. The same sharp angles, the same fire in the eyes. But pale. A mirror twisted by memory.

Allen’s stomach turned.

Larissa froze.

"Uh—" Jane blinked. "Okay that’s..."

"It’s Larissa’s backstory," Zoe muttered.

"Nope. I’m done," Bella said. "We’re killing him. No redemption arc. Straight execution."

"He’s got taste," Larissa muttered grimly. "Terrible methods, but taste."

Allen’s voice came out lower than he meant.

"...You okay?"

Larissa didn’t answer at first. "I’m going to rip him apart."

He nodded once.

That was enough.

The groom raised a hand—and the chamber lit up with holy glyphs.

A pulse of light erupted from the altar. Sigils blazed across the floor in concentric rings, spiraling outward like a mechanical flower blooming in white fire. The air tasted sterile—too clean, too artificial. Holy power, not divine. Something built, coded, synthetic.

The knight constructs tightened their grip on the bride, forcing her onto the stone altar. Her hands shook. Her lips moved, but no sound came.

Allen stepped forward instinctively—but was stopped.

A barrier.

The dome around the altar was already forming.

[Warning: Holy Ritual Barrier Active. Interference Disabled Until Completion.]

"It’s... holy coding," Vivian muttered, analyzing the spell script. "But like, corrupted. Someone rewrote church logic with hardware."

"What the hell does that mean?" Bella growled.

"It means this ritual wasn’t blessed. It was programmed." Vivian’s voice turned hollow. "She’s not being sanctified. She’s being rewritten."

Inside the barrier, the groom stood over the bride. Her arms were splayed, blood trailing in delicate arcs along etched grooves of the altar. It wasn’t draining like a wound.

It was siphoning. Pulled gently, slowly, like blood offering to a greedy, unseen god.

Or worse... a machine.

"I offer this sacrifice," the groom said softly. "This perfect bride. Body untouched. Heart unspoiled. Blood untainted."

The altar pulsed.

Allen’s eyes tracked every movement.

The groom raised both arms now, golden light forming a crown above his head. "Let her become the Cathedral’s Heart. Let her pulse eternal in its core."

The bride trembled. Eyes wide, mouth moving again.

Still no sound.

A tear ran down her cheek.

Allen felt something old twist in his chest. Not anger. Not yet.

Recognition. A jolt of eerie, unwelcome familiarity.

Not guilt—for this was only a memory, a vision—but something colder. Sharper.

He knew that expression. That look of being taken. Of something precious being overwritten.

It wasn’t his burden—but it echoed one he’d carried.

That helpless, silent scream. That flicker of defiance right before it was crushed.

And he hated it.

He hated how familiar it felt.

He moved again.

Still nothing.

The ritual brightened.

And then—

The light shuddered.

It didn’t dim.

It cracked.

A thin line of shadow bled into the altar’s sigil ring. Like ink dropped into holy water. The runes began to stutter.

"What the—?" the groom paused, lowering his arms.

The bride’s eyes flicked—there. Toward a black sliver forming behind the altar.

It pulsed. Breathing like something alive. Hungry.

"Who dares—?" the groom turned, voice twisting, warping.

The dark pulse spread.