Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives

Chapter 1935: Boss Aggro or Ghost Aggro?

Villain Ch 1935. Boss Aggro or Ghost Aggro?

Red_King walked up to the statue, poked it with his gauntlet. “Trap or not, this place screams Father^Alex’s church fanclub headquarters.”

Mastercraft smirked. “Honestly, we should leave you here to offer blessings while we go loot.”

“I’m not a real priest,” Alex mumbled.

“You’re wearing a holy relic halo, bro,” Red_King said. “That’s commitment.”

Allen chuckled quietly, walking up behind them. “We could start taking confession requests. Charge premium coin.”

“Confess your microtransaction sins,” Mastercraft added with mock solemnity. “We forgive you, child, but the Platinum Pass does not.”

Alex turned pink. “C-can we not—”

And then—

Mastercraft wandered closer. “Yo… what if this statue’s made of gold?”

Allen blinked. “It’s not an interactable, right?”

Mastercraft reached up anyway. Touched it.

-CREEEEEAK!

The room shuddered.

Allen immediately tensed. “You didn’t—”

“I barely touched it!” Mastercraft yelled.

The floor groaned.

Cracks spiderwebbed out from the altar.

“Oh no,” Alex whispered. “No no no no—”

And then the floor disappeared beneath them.

“NOT AGAAAAAAAIN—”

They fell.

Screaming.

Into red glyphs and darkness.

Impact.

Hard.

Dust.

Silence.

And then—

[LOCATION: ELDERGOURNE UNDERCHAPEL – RESTRICTED]

[Average Monster Level: 240+]

Allen groaned from the stone.

“…Mastercraft.”

“Yeah?”

“If we die down here, I’m haunting your storage chest.”

“Fair.”

Red_King groaned. “Ugh. My knees.”

Alex whispered, “I think something’s watching us…”

Allen stood slowly, eyes narrowing in the red glow of the underchapel.

Stone walls bled with centuries-old rust that looked too red to be rust. The air felt wrong—wet and hungry—like it wasn’t just humid but alive. The torches mounted along the walls weren’t fire. They were something else. Something flickering and red and dripping smoke that curled downward instead of up.

The UI pinged.

[Secret Quest Activated: Last Supper of the Damned]

[Quest Type: Unknown]

[Warning: Recommended Party Size – 6+]

Silence rippled through the party.

Then Mastercraft said slowly, “I don’t like the name of this quest.”

Alex stepped closer to Allen without realizing it, staff in hand, voice tight. “I… I don’t like the place.”

“This is worse than before,” Allen muttered.

The air shifted again—thicker, slower, like time was slowing down.

And then Red_King spoke, eyes scanning the corners of the room. “Okay, but do you guys hear that?”

They all froze.

Yeah. They heard it.

It wasn’t music.

It wasn’t ambience.

It was… wrong.

A soft, wet whisper. Like someone murmuring under water.

Then—

A shuddering creak from above. Or below. Or maybe inside the walls.

Allen’s ears twitched under the hood.

The voice again. Louder now. Closer.

A woman’s voice.

Gurgling.

Broken.

Repeating something over and over like a curse turned lullaby.

“huuunn…gry… faaaamiiiily… waaaaiting…”

Alex whimpered. “Why does it sound like it’s inside my head?”

Mastercraft took one step back. “Nope. I don’t like that. At all. No thank you.”

Then the crying started.

Not a sob. Not even desperate.

It was soft. Childlike. Just a low, continuous whimper from the far end of the corridor.

Allen turned his head slowly.

The red glow pulsed.

There—at the edge of the hallway where the light dimmed into shadow—stood a figure.

Barefoot. Draped in a dark, tattered gown that hung too long, trailing on the stone like liquid ink. Her head was tilted unnaturally sideways. Her hair hung like wet seaweed over her face. The red light behind her made the silhouette dance—shiver.

Her face was wrong. Not in a monstrous way—worse. It looked almost human, like something trying to remember what a face should be. Her skin was porcelain-pale, cracked in spiderweb patterns, with dried black veins spreading from her sunken eyes.

The eyes themselves were mismatched—one glassy white, the other a deep red, dripping slowly like it wept ink. Her lips were torn, stitched partially shut with black thread, but the corners stretched up far too high, forming a broken, bloodied smile that never stopped trembling. Like it hurt to hold. Like she was always smiling… even in agony.

And the sound—the creaking—wasn’t coming from the walls.

It was her.

Her neck.

Turning slowly. Crack by crack by crack.

Allen pointed.

“You mean… that woman?”

All three turned at once.

Red_King cursed. “Oh HELL no.”

Alex grabbed Allen’s cloak. “Why is she still turning her neck?”

Mastercraft stepped back. “Is this boss aggro? Or… ghost aggro?”

The figure didn’t move.

Not yet.

The torches dimmed. The red glow deepened.

[You have entered the Banquet Wing.]

[Objective Updated: Attend the Last Supper.]

Allen whispered, “Attend? Attend? Are we… guests?”

“Don’t like that either,” Red_King muttered. “I’m not even dressed for dinner.”

“Do not joke right now,” Alex hissed.

“Wait,” Mastercraft said, squinting. “I think she’s—moving?”

And she was.

But not walking.

She was gliding.

Slowly. Almost imperceptibly. Her feet never left the ground. Her body tilted forward. Arms limp. Her fingers—thin and too long—dripped some black substance that steamed when it touched the stone.

Allen took a single step back, raising his daggers.

“I’m not taking chances. If she gets close, I’m stabbing first.”

“You sure that’ll work?” Alex asked, voice trembling.

“Nope,” Allen said. “But it’ll make me feel better.”

“Plan?” Red_King whispered.

“Run,” Allen answered.

“Agree,” Mastercraft exhaled.

The woman twitched—

Her body snapped upright—

And then she screamed.

Not audio. Not in the game’s sound files.

It was something else. Something that didn’t go through your ears but through your spine.

[Status Effect: Paranoia – Duration: 30 seconds]

[Status Effect: Bleed -5HP/sec]

[Status Effect: Curse: Whispers of the Famished]

Allen growled. “Move. Now.”

They ran.

Down the hallway. Through a rusted archway. Into a dining room where long tables sat covered in rotted food and burned-out candles. Bones were set at every place setting. Each chair had a skeleton slumped forward in a dinner pose.

The door slammed behind them.

Allen spun.

The woman wasn’t there.

Yet.

But something was.

Hollow Hostess – The Starved Lady <Level 242>

[State: Bound to Room]

Alex whimpered again. “It says bound to room. What does that mean?”

Allen moved fast. “It means we’re stuck until we kill her.”

Red_King slammed his sword down. “Fine. Let’s do it.”

She appeared from the ceiling. Crawled downward backwards, her face upside-down. A soft crack crack crack as her joints bent the wrong way.