Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives - Chapter 1991

Capítulo 1991: Walking into Hell

Villain Ch 1991. Walking into Hell

Allen pulled into the underground parking lot of the Cyber building, engine purring low as he backed the bike into his reserved spot. The overhead lights flickered slightly, casting long shadows over the sleek matte black of his ride. He cut the ignition and just sat there for a second, helmet still on, letting the silence settle around him.

He exhaled.

Alright. Game face.

Pulling off the helmet, he ran a hand through his hair, combed it back with his fingers, and checked his reflection in the side mirror. No blood. No bruises. No lipstick smears. Clean.

Well. Almost.

The faintest hint of a hickey still lingered on the curve of his neck.

“…Fck,” he muttered.

He zipped up his jacket a bit higher and swung his leg off the bike, grabbing his datapad from the side compartment before locking the vehicle. The smell of engine oil, concrete dust, and faint traces of someone else’s over-perfumed cologne filled the air as he made his way to the elevator.

By the time he reached the glass lobby, the receptionist perked up.

“Good morning, Mr Goldborne!”

He smiled. Just a small one. Nodded. “Morning.”

A few others waved. Some smiled too long. A couple blinked at him a little too fast. One woman walking past him nudged her friend with her elbow and whispered something that made them both giggle.

Allen didn’t stop.

He stepped into the elevator, pressed the top floor, and glanced up at the mirrored interior.

Yeah. The mark was still there.

Just faint enough that no one would dare comment. But clear enough that everyone noticed.

He groaned under his breath and tilted his head, trying to stretch the collar up to cover it. The suit jacket was fresh, he didn’t wear yesterday’s, and his black shirt was clean and pressed. But that tiny mark? Yeah, that told an entire damn story.

-Ding!

The elevator opened to the executive floor, and he stepped out. Cool white marble floors. Dark glass walls. Soft humming from hidden speakers playing some corporate instrumental playlist that clearly cost too much to license.

Focus.

Meeting room seven. Hell’s Gate tournament planning. It was already 9:02 AM.

When he walked in, the room was halfway full. A long table stretched the length of the floor-to-ceiling windows, overlooking the city. Digital folders hovered over the table’s surface, updated in real time. Coffee cups. Tablets. One guy munching on a protein bar like he hadn’t slept.

“Allen,” said Sasha, one of the senior event planners. She wore black framed glasses, her platinum hair in a tight braid. “We were just waiting for you.”

Allen nodded and slid into his seat at the head of the table.

“I had to untangle some backend reports this morning,” he said smoothly, then leaned forward, pulling up the main doc. “Alright. Let’s go over it.”

“Registration already closed,” Sasha began, flipping her projection into view. “We already hit more than our projected participant cap.”

“Nice,” Allen said, eyes scanning the leaderboard updates. “What about influencer outreach? Any new streamers we confirmed?”

“Three more last night,” chimed in Raoul, their social media guy. “One of them has ties with Arcana’s old team, so we’re threading the teaser trailers.”

Allen nodded. “Fine, but don’t leak the matchups too early. Let the speculation drive clicks.”

“Copy that.”

He flipped to the tournament bracket mock-ups. “I want to keep the mid-tiers flexible. Make the wildcard bracket actually feel like a bloodbath. Let them see what’s waiting.”

A few people chuckled. Sasha didn’t.

She tapped a line on the budget screen. “Your exhibition fight, Allen. Confirm or not?”

“As a player?” Allen glanced up. “Does it raise engagement?”

“Seventeen percent bump when your name’s mentioned. Thirty if we tease a rematch with Elio.”

Allen leaned back in the chair, hands behind his head. His sleeves rolled up just enough to show the black cufflinks. His expression was relaxed. Too relaxed.

“Fine. Tease it. But don’t lock it. Let Elio stew in it for now.”

Everyone nodded.

“Merch collabs?” Allen asked.

“Luna and Ivy are working on harem-themed bundles,” Raoul said, grinning.

“Make sure the figurines don’t look like weird bobbleheads this time,” Allen muttered.

“And one more thing,” Sasha said. “We got a licensing request from Hell’s Gate Aeros (country). They want to do a regional tournament arc. Tie-in content. NFTs. Special skins. All of it.”

Allen raised an eyebrow.

“Revenue share?”

“60-40. We get 60.”

He smiled. “Tell them to bump us to 70.”

“You’re a demon,” Raoul muttered.

“Tell me something new,” Allen replied, pulling a can of black coffee from his jacket pocket and cracking it open with a hiss. He drank half in one go, ignoring the stares.

Sasha leaned forward, suddenly more serious. “This tournament is going to set the tone for the next expansion. You know that, right?”

Allen’s eyes didn’t move from the doc.

“I know.” He looked up at her slowly. No smile. No coldness either. Just quiet calculation.

The room went quiet for a beat.

Then someone coughed, and the conversation shifted back to schedules and PR appearances.

By the time the meeting wrapped, it was almost noon. Allen stood, stretching his arms up, bones popping.

The others filed out slowly, but Sasha stayed behind.

She looked at him. Then down at his neck. Then back up.

“Faint bruise,” she said.

“Don’t start.”

“I wasn’t judging. Just observing.”

He zipped his jacket again. “Next time, I’ll wear a scarf.”

She smirked. “Next time, tell her to aim lower.”

Allen rolled his eyes. “Noted. Now focus. We’ve got twenty thousand tickets already in pre-order and the final map rotations aren’t even locked yet.”

The organizer, Cassidy, flipped her tablet around to show a 3D render of the main arena. “We’ve mocked up a multi-zone stadium overlay with dynamic terrain shifts for finals. I’m talking collapsing floors, randomized weather modules, vertical siege towers for PvP stages. Our tech team said we can sync it with the audience’s reactions in real time.”

Allen leaned forward, scanning the map layout. “And server latency?”

“Under 22ms average. Backup server mirrors already in place. We even got global stream support lined up through six different partners. You just need to approve the camera drone placement.”

He nodded slowly, eyes narrowing at the digital blueprint. “Rotate the final zone counterclockwise twenty degrees. That cliffside spawn area? Too easy to camp from above. Add a fog generator near spawn point B.”

Cassidy smiled. “Knew you’d notice that. Already queued with devs.”

Allen sat back, arms crossed. “Good. And the VIP boxes?”

“Secured. All Tier 1 sponsors. Plus the Mayor’s son booked two rows.” Cassidy tapped a note on her screen. “And the physical stage design?”

Allen’s gaze sharpened. “Ditch the old banner designs. I want black steel trim, LED ember effects under the floor glass. Lava motifs. Big. Bold. Make the arena feel like you’re walking into Hell itself.”

“Hot,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow. “Pun intended?”

She grinned. “Always.” Then she paused. “Allen… this event’s huge. You nervous?”

He looked at the screen, then back at her.

“No,” he said calmly. “I’m ready to make something unforgettable.”

Cassidy let out a slow whistle.

“Hell’s Gate, huh? You’re not just making a tournament. You’re starting a damn war.”

Allen smiled.

“Exactly.”

Your gift is the motivation for my creation. Give me more motivation!

600 Power Stone = 1 bonus chapter

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Space Craft= 4 bonus chapters

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