Villain Ch 1829. Hit. Run. Repeat
The Crypts were quiet.
Not dead quiet—because nothing in the Cursed Crypts ever truly died—but that kind of charged silence that buzzed beneath the skin, like something ancient was holding its breath.
The torches along the walls burned green. Not aesthetic. Not atmospheric. They were just cursed. Broken pillars, ghostly whispers, flickering dungeon sigils still echoing old event scripts.
And here they were.
Villains of the realm.
Waiting.
Allen lounged on his throne, all relaxed devil-emperor attitude—one leg thrown lazily over the armrest. His girls were scattered around the room in their usual 'unbothered but beautiful' way.
Jane was perched sideways on a ruined stone chair, legs folded like a psycho monk, eyes glued to her hologram feed. The green light cast sharp shadows across her face, giving her that perfectly unhinged necromancer look. She glowed evil.
