Villain With The Absolute Evil Sytem
Chapter 37 : Aftermath

Chapter 37: Chapter 37 : Aftermath

The city of Moamao stood in ruins.

Smoke curled from collapsed buildings, the acrid scent of burnt metal and flesh lingering in the air. The streets were littered with debris—twisted steel, shattered glass, and bodies covered in white sheets.

Emergency crews worked tirelessly, sifting through the wreckage, searching for survivors. The cries of the wounded echoed through the night, mixing with the wails of those who had lost everything.

And in the midst of it all, whispers spread.

The people spoke in hushed tones, their voices filled with disbelief and sorrow.

What happened?

Why did Voltstrike do this?

Who was the man that stopped him?

They had no answers. Only rumors.

A savior, they said. A nameless hero who had arrived without warning, battling Voltstrike in a clash that had torn the city apart. They called him ’The Unclothed Hero’, a bizarre title born from the only thing they knew—he had fought without armor, without a suit, just raw power and nothing else.

And he had won.

Moamao’s golden protector was dead.

But the hero they had trusted for years had not died a martyr. He had died a villain.

News Report – Moamao Morning Broadcast

"Shocking footage has surfaced that may shed light on the tragic events of last night. Security recordings and civilian footage have revealed a disturbing truth about Voltstrike, once considered the city’s greatest protector.

The footage shows Voltstrike, identified as Michael Browning, brutally executing an unarmed supervillain during an earlier battle. Instead of bringing them to justice, he delivered a fatal blow. Furthermore, additional clips depict Browning in various states of intoxication, drinking heavily at odd hours and displaying erratic behavior.

While details are still unclear, what we do know is this: Moamao suffered greatly last night, and the man they trusted may not have been the hero they thought he was.

The mysterious individual responsible for stopping Voltstrike remains unidentified, though witnesses claim he vanished shortly after the battle._

This incident has left many questioning the true nature of those they call heroes."

Boulder leaned against a ruined streetlight, arms crossed, his heavy frame casting a long shadow over the rubble-strewn ground. His partner, Stone, sat on a chunk of broken pavement, absently flipping through his phone.

They had done their job well.

Every detail, every rumor, every piece of "evidence" had been carefully placed, ensuring that Moamao’s people saw exactly what Lumian wanted them to see.

The video Stone had recorded had done most of the work. The execution. The drunken nights. The unmasking. It had been so easy to shape the narrative. To turn a beloved hero into a disgraced murderer.

Boulder scoffed. "It’s almost funny."

Stone looked up. "What is?"

"How easy it was," Boulder gestured at the ruined city, "to make them believe it. A week ago, they would’ve worshipped the ground Voltstrike walked on. Now? They spit on his grave."

Stone smirked. "People love their heroes... but they love tearing them down even more."

Boulder hummed in agreement.

Still, something felt... off.

Lumian had given them precise orders—spread the footage, control the narrative, erase any doubts. They had followed them perfectly.

But he hadn’t been seen since that night.

Boulder frowned, glancing up at the darkened sky. "Where do you think he went?"

Stone didn’t answer right away. He scrolled absently through his phone, glancing at the latest headlines, the flood of messages, the endless speculation.

Finally, he sighed.

"Wherever he is," Stone muttered, locking his screen, "he got what he wanted."

Boulder exhaled, shaking his head. "Yeah. And Moamao will never forget it."

They fell into silence, standing amidst the ruins of a city forever changed.

"Hey, what about our revenge for dynamite? Weren’t we eventually going to avenge him?" Boulder asked

Stone looked at Boulder from the corner of his eyes, "May Dynamite’s soul rest in peace," he said, placing his palms together as if praying

"But—"

"May his soul rest in peace, Boulder," Stone repeated

"Ahh, I see. May his soul rest in peace,"

After witnessing what Lumian was capable of doing, stone wanted nothing to do with Lumian anymore. To talk vengeance against such a man, was suicide for he had not the ability to do anything to him.

And somewhere, far beyond the reach of the chaos, beyond the whispers and the mourning, Lumian remained unseen.

The world was in chaos. Cities mourned. The people of Moamao whispered of their fallen hero, of the nameless savior who had stopped him.

And yet in a small, brightly lit ice cream shop nestled between two bustling streets, a young man sat, humming cheerfully as he ate from an oversized bowl of vanilla ice cream.

Lumian took another spoonful, savoring the creamy sweetness with a bright smile. His legs swung slightly under the table, his entire posture relaxed, as if he hadn’t just reduced an entire district to ruins.

The shop was quiet, filled only with the occasional chatter of customers and the gentle hum of the air conditioner. Outside, life went on, oblivious to the monster that sat among them.

With one hand, Lumian scooped another bite of ice cream. With the other, he flicked his fingers, bringing up the floating blue screen in front of him.

[System Status]

[ Chaos Tokens : 3 200

Name: Lumian

Race: Herald

Titles : Herald of the Unsung, Puppet master...

Abilities: Dark Pilfering, Corruption, Dread Step..

System Shop: Unlocked

]

Lumian’s expression remained indifferent as he scrolled through the menu. Now that his revenge was complete, he finally had time to properly look through the system. Until now, he had only used what was necessary, what had been instinctive.

"Damn. I’ve been held back this whole time," He said as he glanced over the items in the shop,

His eyes danced over the stats, but then

He paused.

The Race section.

"Herald."

His smile faded slightly. He tapped the word, but no explanation came.

"When did this change?"

He had been human before. He was sure of it. But now apparently he is something different.

And then another thing caught his eye.

A small, glowing option at the top of the screen.

[System Upgrade]

Lumian clicked it.

A new screen appeared.

[System Upgrade Requirements

To unlock the next stage of system evolution, you must fulfill the following:

’Sacrifice a million lives in the name of the faceless God’

Lumian’s spoon paused mid-air.

He blinked.

Then blinked again.

One million?

That was...quite the number.

He had expected something difficult. Something gruesome, maybe. But a million lives? That was genocide on a scale that made even him think, not from a moral aspect but rather about the scale.

Lumian exhaled slowly, tapping the table with his free hand. He wasn’t opposed to the idea after all, he had no intention of stopping now. But it did make him wonder...

What exactly am I upgrading into?

His spoon idly scraped against the ceramic, but his mind was elsewhere.

The translucent system screen floated before him, numbers glaring in silent mockery.

[Chaos Tokens: 3,200]

He scowled.

"All that chaos, all that suffering, and I only have this much left?"

Lumian exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. The problem wasn’t just that he had lost so many tokens. The real issue was how he was going to get them back.

Because without Chaos Tokens, he had no leverage. No power to acquire new abilities, no means to prepare for whatever came next.

"And I still need a million lives for that damn upgrade."

A soft chuckle left his lips.

And there were so many ways to make that happen.

Option One: Classic Mayhem

Burning buildings, riots, mass hysteria, those were the obvious choices. Simple. Effective. But predictable. If he went around blowing things up, it wouldn’t take long before someone tried to put him down.

Not that they could.

Lumian was a careful person, he only wanted people to truly notice him only when he was sure he could defend against all odds

But still.

Option Two: Psychological Ruin

Sometimes, breaking a city was as easy as breaking its people. Lies, manipulation, little whispers that turned neighbors against each other. He could start rumors, ruin reputations, sow paranoia in the hearts of thousands. But would take too much effort, Lumian would know that

Option Three : Toppling the "Heroes"

People needed symbols. Hope. They needed someone to believe in. And what better way to dismantle a city than to corrupt its champions?

Michael had been a golden boy, a beacon of justice until Lumian had shattered that illusion.

"And that was just one hero."

What if he found others? What if he broke them?

Turned them into monsters.

Turned them against the very people who worshipped them.

Option Four: A Game of Death

Lumian smirked.

What if he didn’t cause the chaos himself?

What if he simply... gave people the means to do it for him?

Weapons dropped in the wrong hands. Information leaked to the right criminals. A game, where people were forced to betray, kill, and destroy just to survive.

"Desperation makes monsters out of everyone."

His grin widened.

Yes.

This was going to be fun.

His thoughts were interrupted when a shadow loomed over his table.

A large frame settled into the chair opposite him.

Lumian looked up.

A broad-shouldered man sat there, casually flipping through the menu as if they were old friends. His presence was solid not just physically, but something more.

Lumian raised a brow.

He stared, waiting.

"Get lost," his eyes all but said.

The man didn’t move. Didn’t even acknowledge the silent warning.

Lumian’s fingers twitched. He was about to use Corruption, just enough to make this idiot leave or do something that would at least incapacitate him

"Lumian."

The name was spoken so casually. So certainly.

Lumian’s grip tightened around his spoon.

The ice cream on it melted.