Villain Ch 1705. Bound
The throne room of the Cursed Crypts always felt colder after a victory.
Maybe it was the ancient bone pillars that loomed overhead, or the way the fire pits flickered with green instead of gold. Maybe it was just the echo—this place had a way of making triumph feel like a memory you weren't supposed to enjoy for too long.
Allen sat on the Throne of Dread, one leg slung over the side like royalty that had long since stopped caring about protocol. His sword rested against the dais, blackened from the last fight, still faintly humming. Around him, the girls were sprawled across cracked cushions, low benches, or their usual spots—each of them radiating that post-war high with just a hint of chaos left over.
