Villain With The Absolute Evil Sytem
Chapter 36 : The fall of Voltstrike

Chapter 36: Chapter 36 : The fall of Voltstrike

A blinding arc of lightning speared toward Lumian’s chest, faster than thought, but Lumian was faster.

His hand snapped up, fingers closing around the bolt.

Michael’s breath hitched.

That wasn’t possible.

Lumian exhaled, the raw energy dancing between his fingers like a toy, crackling but harmless in his grip. He studied it for a moment before tightening his fist.

The lightning died.

Michael’s heart pounded. His mind screamed at him to move, to fight, to do something, but his body was frozen.

Lumian rose to his feet, brushing off the dust as if he hadn’t just been seconds from death. His expression was unreadable now, no more amusement, no more teasing. Just cold, focused intent.

"I’ll be honest, Michael." He took a slow step forward. "This has been fun. Watching you break. Watching you lose." Another step. "But we’re not done."

Michael stumbled back, his instincts screaming at him, but Lumian was already in front of him.

A blur of motion, Lumian’s fist slammed into Michael’s gut.

Michael’s breath vanished.

Pain exploded through him, raw and brutal, as he was launched backward with terrifying force. His body tore through the air, smashing through the wreckage of their battle. The impact shattered another car, then another, until he finally skidded to a stop against the broken pavement.

His vision blurred. His body ached.

This wasn’t right.

Footsteps.

Slow, deliberate.

Michael forced his gaze upward, his breaths shallow.

Lumian stood over him.

And for the first time, Michael felt something colder than rage.

Dread.

Lumian crouched, his eyes dark with something unreadable. "Do you know what the difference is between us, Michael?"

Michael gritted his teeth, forcing himself to move.

Lumian grabbed his face.

Hard.

The grip was ironclad, forcing Michael to meet his gaze.

"The difference," Lumian whispered, "is that I don’t need power to break you."

His fingers dug in.

"I already have."

Michael choked back a snarl, sparks crackling across his skin, but Lumian just smiled.

And then he let go.

Michael collapsed, his body betraying him. His limbs shook. His breath came in ragged gasps.

He hated this.

He hated Lumian.

Michael staggered to his feet, his breathing ragged. His body trembled from the aftershock of his own stolen power. Lumian’s golden lightning still crackled in his palm, wild and untamed, thrumming with raw, amplified destruction.

Michael clenched his fists. This wasn’t possible. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He had been winning. Lumian had been on the verge of death, he had felt it.

Yet here he stood, stronger than ever, his wounds erased, his body renewed.

And he was smiling.

A slow, measured step forward. Lumian radiated confidence, his dark energy shifting like something alive, whispering, writhing. His presence was suffocating, oppressive, and worst of all it was growing.

Michael swallowed hard, forcing his body to move. He summoned the last reserves of his strength, golden lightning flaring to life once more.

No more playing around. No more underestimating.

He would end this.

Michael roared, the heavens answering his fury. The sky split apart as a storm of divine lightning rained down, each bolt charged with pure, condensed devastation. The air vibrated with the force of his attack, the sheer magnitude of it threatening to tear the battlefield apart.

Lumian watched it all with cold amusement.

He lifted a single hand.

Dark lightning surged from his fingertips, spiraling into the heavens.

[Dark Pilfering]

The golden storm froze.

For the briefest second, the world itself hesitated, as though the world was uncertain whether to obey Michael’s wrath or Lumian’s will.

And then

The sky turned black.

Michael’s divine lightning, his last desperate attack, twisted and corrupted in midair. The golden hue drained from it, replaced by something darker, something wrong. The stolen power folded into Lumian, amplifying, twisting, evolving.

"Anything you can do, I can do it ten times better," Lumian sneered

And then he unleashed it.

A single bolt of dark lightning ripped through the sky.

Michael’s eyes widened in sheer horror.

BOOM.

The world exploded.

Michael didn’t even have time to scream.

His body was engulfed in the impact, the force of it sending him careening through the ruined cityscape. Buildings crumbled, the ground cracked, and everything in a hundred-meter radius was erased.

By the time the dust settled, Michael’s charred, broken form lay half-buried beneath the rubble.

He twitched, his breath a ragged wheeze. His once-proud golden glow flickered, dimming like a dying ember.

Lumian strode forward, each step deliberate, echoing in their now-quiet battlefield.

Michael coughed, blood spilling from his lips. His arms trembled as he tried and failed—to push himself up.

"...H-How?" His voice was barely a whisper.

Lumian crouched down beside him, tilting his head as he studied the fallen warrior.

"How?" Lumian repeated, his voice light, almost amused.

Michael’s vision blurred. His strength was fading, his body barely holding on.

He barely clung to consciousness. His body was broken, his strength depleted. Every movement sent waves of agony through his nerves, but nothing, nothing compared to the sheer horror in his heart.

And then the pain began anew.

Lumian stepped forward, raising a single hand. lightning, Michael’s own power gathered in his palm, tainted with chaotic corruption.

Michael barely had time to register what was happening before the searing light descended.

CRACK—BOOM!

Agony unlike anything before. His nerves screamed. His body spasmed.

Michael’s vision turned white as his legs, from the knees down, were consumed in fire and lightning.

A ragged, bloodcurdling scream tore from his throat.

His flesh melted. His bones charred. The air filled with the sickening stench of burnt muscle and cooked marrow.

Michael collapsed. His arms barely caught him as he hit the ground, his entire body trembling, the raw nerve endings of his ruined legs sending pure, undiluted torment through every cell.

Lumian loomed over him, expression unreadable.

Then, finally he spoke.

"You’re going to die," Lumian said, his voice almost gentle. "And you’ll die as the very thing you swore to destroy."

Michael barely managed to lift his head, eyes glazed over in pain.

Lumian gestured around them.

Their battlefield was a graveyard. The cries of suffering, the distant sobs of the injured, the sight of so many unmoving bodies, it surrounded them, stretching far beyond..

"This..." Lumian’s voice was calm, cold. "This is your doing."

Michael’s breath hitched.

"You called yourself a hero." Lumian’s eyes bored into him. "But listen. Do you hear it? The screams? The wailing? The ones who will never go home?"

Michael tried to shake his head. "No..." His voice trembled. "N-no, I—"

"You’re a killer. A hypocrite "

Michael’s heart stopped.

"You’re a villain. With your death, ’I’m doing everyone a favour, one less villain on this infested island’ "

Michael’s breath quickened, his pupils shrinking. He recognized his own words, the exact words he had once told Lumian

"And worst of all..." Lumian crouched, looking him dead in the eyes. "You’re a hypocrite."

Michael snapped.

"No! No, no, no!" His voice cracked, raw with desperation. "I’M A HERO! I’M THE GOLDEN BOY! I AM VOLTSRIKE"

Lumian’s hand shot out. He fisted Michael’s hair and yanked him up, dangling him like a ragdoll.

"Look," Lumian hissed.

He turned Michael’s head toward the ruins, forcing him to see the truth.

The devastation. The corpses. The children clutching at their lifeless parents. The people he fought to protect, the ones he fought to save and even the police who had fought alongside him, reduced to ash.

Michael’s breath hitched.

His body shook.

"No..." He whispered. His eyes darted from one ruin to another. "No, this wasn’t..."

He began to tremble.

His face crumpled.

And then—

Michael broke.

He wailed. A deep, gut-wrenching sob tore from his throat, his entire body shaking in grief.

He screamed, his cries filled with raw, helpless despair.

Lumian watched it all, expression unreadable.

Then, with a look of disgust, he flung Michael away.

Michael crashed into the dirt, his body twitching, his sobs uncontrollable.

"You’re broken," Lumian muttered. "Doing anything to you now wouldn’t even be satisfying."

Michael curled in on himself, hands gripping at the dirt.

Lumian sighed. He lifted a hand, golden lightning coiling into a searing ball of destruction.

"Don’t worry," he said. "Even after your death, you’ll be remembered."

The lightning grew, humming with lethal energy.

"I’ll make sure of it."

He raised his hand

BANG!

A gunshot fired into the air

Lumian stilled.

"...Stop."

It was her voice, Angela.

She stood there, panting, her entire body trembling. Her violet eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

Her hand, the one gripping the gun, was shaking violently.

Her body was burned, bruises lining her arms and legs. She had suffered, fought, bled... and yet, she was still here.

Fighting, trying to make up for her mistakes.

Angela’s voice cracked.

"I was so blind," she whispered. "All this time, I thought... I thought you truly cared for me, for once I thought someone saw me for me. But now I see that you were just using me to..."

Tears spilled down her cheeks.

"...I see it."

Her voice broke.

"My life only started falling apart the day I met you."

Lumian stared at her, her words barely reaching him.

Instead, his gaze traveled down.

To the bruises.

To the burns.

Angela noticed his stare.

And the

"Tch."

Her breath hitched.

"...Damaged goods," Lumian muttered.

Angela froze.

Her heart stopped.

"What...?" she whispered, staggering back.

Before she could react, Lumian was in front of her.

He grabbed the barrel of her gun, his fingers crushed the metal.

Angela gasped, her eyes wide.

She opened her mouth to speak but Lumian shoved his hand over it.

He released a blast of lightning into her mouth

Angela’s screams were muffled beneath his palm. Her body convulsed as volts of corrupted electricity tore through her, burning her from the inside out.

Michael tried to scream.

He tried to move.

He couldn’t.

All he could do was watch.

Angela’s eyes rolled back. Smoke curled from her lips and ger body went limp.

Lumian let her drop.

The charred remains of Angela hit the ground, motionless.

Michael sobbed.

Lumian turned back to him.

Michael wept.

He screamed.

And then Lumian lifted his hand again.

Dark lightning Michael’s own power—rained down.

Michael’s body arched from the sheer voltage, his skin peeling, his nerves frying.

It was endless.

It was agony.

Lumian only stopped when Michael’s voice was gone.

When he was nothing more than a broken, twitching heap.

Then Lumian laughed.

He laughed and laughed and laughed.

And then he vanished.