NOVGO.NET Chapter 1694: Thirst
Chapter 1694: Thirst
Villain Ch 1694. Thirst
The Devil Emperor let out one more laugh—unhinged and victorious. “May your love story echo through every cursed wall in this place.”
He turned to the bride, still chained but now blinking weakly. Her eyes met his—terrified, confused.
She wasn’t supposed to still be alive.
He tilted his head, studying her like an artist examining a half-finished painting. The flickering altar light caught on her pale cheeks, her trembling lashes. Blood pooled beneath her, dark and thin like ink. Her breath came in fragile, broken little gasps. Barely enough to call living. Her lips were parted, but no sound escaped—just a dry exhale that smelled like the last page of a prayer.
The Emperor crouched beside her again, not like a savior, not like a devil. Just a man enjoying the moment.
“Well, now…” he whispered, fingers dragging gently across the cracked edge of the altar. “What should I do with you?”
No one answered.
The bride didn’t have the strength to flinch. Her pulse had faded so thin, so faint, he could barely sense it.
“Your body’s gone to hell,” he mused, voice low and almost gentle. “Or maybe heaven. Hard to tell, really. Either way… you’re basically dead.”
He leaned down.
His face hovered above hers, close enough that her breath—what little of it remained—brushed his lips. His eyes narrowed. His grin stretched.
“Or at least,” he whispered, “your heart died. That part’s obvious.”
He exhaled slowly and inhaled again, close to her neck. The scent was faint—fainter than it should’ve been. But still there. He sniffed once, twice.
“Mm… yeah,” he muttered. “Dead for sure. But…”
His smile sharpened.
“I smell something else. Something new.”
He sat back on his heels, like a hunter just discovering that his prey had grown teeth.
“You’re not like the others, are you?” he said. “You saw the world as holy once. Pure. Light and dark. Right and wrong.”
He leaned forward again, closer.
“But something’s changing in you,” he murmured, brushing a cold fingertip down her cheek. “You don’t see black and white anymore.”
She twitched.
He grinned wider.
“You’ve started seeing grey, haven’t you?” he said, eyes glowing faintly now. “You’ve fallen for me.”
The words dripped like poison. Or perfume.
“Isn’t that right, Saint?”
The bride’s mouth opened. No words came.
But then—she laughed.
Or tried to.
A broken, clicking sound rasped from her throat. It cracked out like shattered glass being swept across stone.
The Emperor smiled wider. “There it is. Music to my ears.”
Her eyes didn’t close.
They just stared at him. Half in horror. Half in recognition. A piece of her still clung to righteousness.
But another part? That part had already let go.
He stood slowly. His shadow draped over her like a curtain.
“I can’t raise the dead,” he said, half to her, half to the cathedral itself. “But this place?”
He glanced around.
Dark walls. Twisted stained glass. Cursed circuitry running through sacred stone. The bones of saints melted with machine gears. Holy glyphs rewritten by madness.
“This cathedral owes me a favor.”
He lifted a hand.
“I wonder,” he said, “if it remembers mercy.”
He opened his fingers.
Darkness coiled around his palm.
Whispers rose—dozens, then hundreds. The echo of souls burned alive in sanctified armor. The silent screams of brides who never walked back down the aisle. The rage of cursed knights turned into obedient dolls. All of it surged forward.
He whispered something low and ancient, something not meant for mortal tongues.
Then louder, his voice rising.
“Cathedral,” he said. “Have mercy on this saint. Give her what you denied the others. Let her live.”
The darkness lashed out.
Black threads, like smoke soaked in venom, exploded from the cathedral walls and rafters. They spiraled in, all directions, pulling memory and blood and pain toward the altar.
The bride gasped as the tendrils struck her chest.
The altar glowed—sickly and red now, like an infected wound. Glyphs warped beneath her. Spikes of iron cracked from the floor and melted again, shuddering with heat.
Then—
It all entered her.
The darkness. The grudge. The hate of every forgotten voice in this place. It pierced her like needles through silk.
She screamed.
This time, for real.
Her back arched off the altar, hair whipping in all directions as the dark power flooded her veins. Her nails clawed at the air. Her limbs shook uncontrollably.
The Devil Emperor just watched.
Calm. Still. Smiling.
The transformation didn’t feel like death. It felt like awakening.
Her ribs cracked, then mended. Her skin flushed. Her throat pulsed once, violently. Then went still.
Then again. Slower.
Then again—stronger.
Her breath returned in sharp, choking bursts. Her eyes opened. Too wide. Glowing faintly with something unholy.
The chains around her melted.
Her hands twitched.
She sat up—slow, unsteady. Like a newborn drowning in breath.
Her gaze flicked to him.
She gasped.
But not from pain.
From thirst.
He caught it instantly.
Her lips quivered. Her mouth opened—but she stopped herself. Jaw clenched. She pressed a hand to her chest like she could force the thirst away.
“No,” she rasped. “I… I won’t…”
Her voice was raw. But defiant.
The Emperor raised an eyebrow. “Still trying to keep your humanity?”
She didn’t respond.
But her eyes kept flicking to his neck. His wrist. The blood pulsing there.
He sighed, dramatically.
Then without another word, he reached for the altar and picked up a shard of broken stained glass.
The sharp edge gleamed in the cursed light.
Then—he slit his own wrist.
The smell hit the air.
Thick.
Sweet.
Velvety and hot like a forbidden promise.
His blood dripped in lazy rivulets down his hand.
The bride’s breath hitched.
Her head jerked away. She looked anywhere but him.
“You sure?” the Devil Emperor asked softly. “Because you smell like hunger.”
She gritted her teeth. Her nails dug into her palms. Her legs trembled.
His blood hit the stone floor.
The scent grew thicker.
And darker.
Her throat convulsed.