Villain With The Absolute Evil Sytem
Chapter 40: Don’t read!!

Chapter 40: Don’t read!!

Michael’s pulse pounded in his ears, his entire world narrowing down to the man—no, the thing standing in front of him.

Lumian.

Naked, unbothered, alive.

It wasn’t possible.

It couldn’t be possible.

Michael had killed him. He remembered it now the fight, the blood, the moment he had watched the life drain from Lumian’s eyes. It had been real. It had been final.

And yet, Lumian was standing there, arms spread like a mockery of resurrection, daring Michael to deny what was right in front of him.

"You’re not real," Michael whispered. His voice shook, a rare tremor of uncertainty.

Lumian’s lips curled. "Oh, I’m very real."

Michael’s fingers twitched. Lightning sparked, but it wasn’t steady. His control wavered, the power inside him reflecting the chaos in his mind.

"This is some kind of trick," Michael growled, forcing steel into his voice. He needed this to be a trick. Needed there to be some rational, explainable reason for this.

"You wish," Lumian said.

And then—

He moved.

Michael barely had time to react.

Lumian closed the distance in an instant, his bare feet silent against the cracked pavement. His fingers shot forward, aiming for Michael’s throat.

Michael’s instincts kicked in. He dodged, twisting out of reach, his body crackling with electricity. A bolt fired from his palm, a golden streak of destruction aimed directly at Lumian’s chest.

Direct hit.

Or so he thought.

The moment the lightning made contact—Lumian was gone.

Michael’s eyes widened. His bolt sailed harmlessly through empty air, striking a streetlamp instead, sending sparks raining down over the crowd of terrified onlookers.

And then

A whisper.

Right behind him.

"Too slow."

Michael spun, fist crackling with energy. But Lumian was already ducking, his movements unnatural, too fluid, too fast.

THUD.

Lumian’s elbow slammed into Michael’s ribs, sending a shockwave of pain through his side.

Michael gritted his teeth, refusing to stumble. He twisted mid-motion, aiming another bolt at Lumian’s face.

But Lumian was already gone again.

Damn it.

Michael’s heart pounded. This wasn’t normal.

Lumian had never been this fast before.

Something was wrong.

Michael’s instincts screamed at him, but he ignored them, charging forward, fists glowing, lightning roaring around him.

No more games.

He swung.

Lumian dodged.

Michael followed up, his movements a blur, fist after fist, each one backed by the full force of his power. His attacks lit up the square, golden arcs of electricity exploding with every missed strike.

But no matter how fast he moved,

Lumian was faster.

He ducked, weaved, twisted through the chaos like a shadow.

Michael growled in frustration. His next strike was meant to break bones, he lunged with all his strength.

And missed.

Lumian sidestepped , and as Michael overextended

CRACK.

A brutal heel kick slammed into Michael’s chest.

The impact sent him flying.

He crashed through a parked car, metal crumpling under his weight.

The world spun. His lungs screamed for air.

For a moment, Michael’s vision blurred.

The scent of burnt asphalt and ozone filled his nostrils.

He coughed. Gritted his teeth. Forced himself to his feet.

And there Lumian stood.

Unscathed.

A stark contrast against the destruction around them, standing in the neon glow, his skin untouched, his smug grin intact.

Michael clenched his jaw.

This wasn’t right.

Lumian shouldn’t be able to take him on like this. He shouldn’t be winning.

Michael was Voltstrike.

Lumian had always been powerful, dangerous even, but Michael had beaten him before.

Had killed him before.

So why—

Why was he losing now?

Lumian tilted his head. "You look confused," he mused. "It’s adorable."

Michael’s eyes flashed.

He launched forward, lightning tearing through the air.

But just as he reached him—

Lumian grabbed his wrist.

Michael’s breath caught.

Impossible.

His electricity should have incinerated him on contact.

But Lumian just stood there, gripping his wrist like it meant nothing.

And then, he squeezed.

Michael bit back a gasp as pain shot through his arm. His electricity fizzled, the golden arcs dying out against Lumian’s skin.

"Come on, stop holding back. Do you really care for human life? You have already taken lives, what difference would it make now?

Be useful for once in your life and do what I need to do. Fight with all your might,"

Back in the apartment, Angela groaned as she forced herself up from the ruined apartment floor, her breath ragged and uneven. The air was thick with dust and the lingering scent of ozone from Michael’s earlier attack. A sharp, burning pain lanced through her arm, forcing her to glance down.

Her skin was blistered, an angry burn crawling up from her wrist to her elbow. Worse still, a jagged piece of wood was lodged in her shoulder, slick with her blood. She swallowed back the pain, pressing trembling fingers to the wound.

There was no time to waste.

She staggered toward a small wooden drawer near the wall, her mind racing. The moment she reached it, she flipped it over, revealing a hidden compartment on the underside. Her fingers fumbled as she pried it open, revealing a single object inside—a small silver revolver.

Angela hesitated.

Her gaze lingered on the gun, its cool metal catching the dim light of the ruined room. She had never been comfortable holding a weapon, but after what she had just witnessed—after seeing Lumian move like a phantom and Michael’s rage boil over like an unchained storm—she knew she needed reassurance.

Because neither of those men were normal.

And if she had any hope of stopping them before the night spiraled further into chaos, she had to be ready.

With a deep breath, she tightened her grip around the revolver and turned toward the shattered doorway.

She had to get to them.

The night was thick with tension.

Michael stood rigid, his entire body crackling with raw electricity. The lights of the city reflected off his narrowed eyes as he glared at the man before him.

"This isn’t possible," he muttered, his voice hoarse with disbelief. His gaze raked over Lumian, searching for something—anything—that would prove this was some cruel joke. "You’re not him. You can’t be him."

Lumian raised a brow, unimpressed.

"You don’t look like him. You don’t talk like him. You don’t even move like him," Michael pressed. His fingers clenched into fists, electricity sparking wildly. "The Lumian I knew was powerless. There’s no way that he" his voice wavered for just a moment, "—would be able to keep up with me. Let alone run away."

Lumian sighed. "I really hoped this part would be over quick."

Michael clenched his jaw.

Lumian’s dark eyes sharpened, his expression shifting from boredom to something far more sinister. "You were right," he said softly. "Scum like you do deserve to be dead. But first—" his lips curled into a sharp, cruel smile, "—I’ll make you suffer for your actions before I reduce you to ashes."

Michael’s brows furrowed.

Lumian tilted his head. "Familiar words, aren’t they?"

And then it hit him.

Michael’s breath caught in his throat. He had said those words before.

That night.

The night he killed Lumian.

Michael’s hands trembled, his electricity flaring wildly. His mind screamed for reason, for something to hold onto, but all he could hear was the distant echo of his own voice from that night.

"It is you."

The truth settled in like poison.

His fury boiled over.

"Everyone, get out of here!" Michael roared. His voice carried over the city square, sending civilians scrambling in every direction.

Lumian chuckled. He spread his arms, grinning. "That’s it. Come on."

Michael didn’t hesitate.

In a blur of crackling light, he lunged—too fast, too sudden for Lumian to react. His fist crashed into Lumian’s ribs, sending him flying across the pavement.

Blood splattered from Lumian’s mouth as he tumbled, but his grin never faded.

"More." His voice was breathy, almost delirious. His bloody teeth gleamed under the city lights. "More! More!"

Michael didn’t stop.

Images flashed through his mind—their first meeting, their conversations, Lumian’s advice about his marriage, his hero work. The way Lumian had always been there, like a guiding force in his life. It all connected.

And it made him sick.

He had been played. Manipulated. Led along like a fool by the very man who now stood before him, mocking him with every breath.

Michael’s fury erupted.

He slammed Lumian into a parked car, the metal folding inward from the force. Before Lumian could recover, Michael drove him through a shop window, shattering glass in every direction.

Still, Lumian laughed.

"Come on, Voltstrike," Lumian taunted, staggering to his feet, his face slick with blood. "That all you got?"

Michael grabbed him by the throat and hurled him through a wooden stall, the structure exploding into splinters.

Lumian groaned, pain flickering across his features. At this rate... I’ll die before it activates.

Then his gaze flickered downward.

A torn piece of green fabric clung to Michael’s shirt. A piece of the hat.

Lumian’s grin widened.

"As much as I loved watching you play in my hands," he began, voice thick with amusement, "you know what the best part of my entire scheme was?"

Michael’s breath was ragged, his chest heaving.

"It was the part where I took your woman and made her mine."

The world stopped.

Michael’s pupils shrank.

"I satisfied her in ways you never could," Lumian continued, his grin stretching wider. "You can ask her. All that yoga she does? It helped a lot. Helped me fold her in ways she wished you did."

Michael’s mind snapped.

His world burned red.

He remembered the way he had found her in that apartment—the state she had been in. The broken look in her eyes.

And Lumian’s smirk.

A roar tore from Michael’s throat as he lost all restraint.

Electricity erupted from his body in an omnidirectional blast.

The city square lit up like a second sun.

Buildings shattered. Cars flipped. Streetlights burst into flames.

And people, innocent people, screamed.

They collapsed where they stood, their bodies caught in the storm of unchecked power.

But Michael didn’t hear them.

Didn’t care.

All that mattered was ending Lumian.

Lightning rained down in relentless waves, striking Lumian over and over, sending arcs of searing energy through his already broken body.

Still, Lumian laughed.

Even as his skin blistered.

Even as his body convulsed under the voltage.

Even as the world burned around him.

Michael pressed forward, his hands crackling with the intent to kill.

[Congratulations! Enough Chaos Tokens have been acquired.

You have Unlocked the System’s Store!!]