Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives

Villain Ch 815. Ghost of The Past

Allen opened his eyes and blinked, squinting against the dim light filtering through the dirty attic window. He looked around, taking in the familiar sights of the cramped space filled with dust and clutter. The familiar peeling wallpaper, yellowed with age, covered the walls of his attic room.

His bed, more of a sagging mattress on a creaky frame, was surrounded by scattered books and clothes that had long since been discarded. The air was thick with the musty smell of neglect. This was a place he never wanted to return to, a place filled with memories he had tried to bury.

‘Why am I here again?’ thought Allen with a frown, the discomfort of the past seeping into his bones. The room was a mess, but it had always been his sanctuary, away from the chaos of the rest of the house.

Standing up, he glanced at the cracked mirror hanging precariously on the wall and saw his teenage self staring back at him. His reflection wore a worn-out t-shirt and shorts, the same ones he had donned during his high school years, the ones with holes and stains from too many restless nights and hurried mornings. His eyes widened in shock.

“Oh God…” he muttered, rubbing his eyes as if that would change the image in the mirror. It didn’t.

Suddenly, the noise from behind the door made him pound loudly. It was a familiar sound, one that sent a shiver down his spine. Allen opened the door and descended the creaky stairs, his heart pounding in his chest. Each step brought him closer to the source of the argument, a confrontation he remembered all too well. The voices grew louder, more distinct, as he approached the living room.

“You can’t just throw him out like that!” Evan’s voice rang out, filled with anger and desperation. “He’s only eighteen! He needs to finish high school!” he complained. It was his half brother.

Allen paused, pressing his back against the wall. The pain was raw, coursing through his veins as if it had happened yesterday. He could hear his stepfather’s gruff voice respond.

“He’s old enough to survive on the streets,” his stepfather snapped back. “He has pocket money. He’ll be fine.” His voice sounded nonchalant.

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“You rarely give him pocket money, and you know it,” Evan shot back, his voice rising. “And every time he tries to get a part-time job, you shut him down. Who’s going to hire an underage kid anyway?” he retorted.

Carla’s voice chimed in, calm and indifferent. “Allen will find a way. Besides, the inheritance money will be available in a few days.” Despite her words, her voice sounded calm. It was as if she was relieved that she could kick Allen out after all these years.

“Sometimes it takes more than a month for the inheritance to be disbursed, even if the documents are complete!” Evan shouted, his frustration boiling over.

Allen bit his lower lip, the bitterness of the past washing over him. He could picture the scene vividly: his stepfather’s dismissive scowl, Evan’s flushed face, his mother’s detached demeanor. It was a debate he had overheard years ago, yet the hurt was still fresh.

“Why do you care so much about him, anyway?” his stepfather sneered. “He’s not even your real brother,” he reminded Evan.

Evan’s voice trembled with rage. “He’s my brother in every way that matters. You can’t just abandon him like this,” he gritted his teeth in anger.

Carla sighed, clearly bored with the conversation. “Evan, you’re being dramatic. Allen is resourceful. He’ll manage.”

“Manage?!” Evan exploded. “You’re talking about him like he’s some kind of stray dog. He’s your son!”

“Unwanted son,” Carla suddenly corrected in a firm tone. It was a clear statement.

The room fell silent, the weight of Evan’s words hanging heavily in the air.

‘Unwanted son…’ Allen echoed in his mind. Allen’s heart ached as he listened, remembering the helplessness he had felt, the fear of being cast out into the world alone.

“Enough,” his stepfather barked. “My decision is final. Allen leaves on his eighteenth birthday. End of discussion,” he declared.

“No, it’s not the end,” Evan said firmly. “I’ll find a way to help him, even if you won’t,” he announced.

Allen’s legs felt weak, his back sliding down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. He buried his face in his folded arms, the memory consuming him. His eyes turned cold. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

In a snap, Allen opened his eyes and panted, his chest rising and falling rapidly as if he had just run a marathon. Sweat clung to his skin, dampening the sheets beneath him. He blinked rapidly, disoriented, the vivid remnants of his nightmare still fresh in his mind. He sat up slowly, running a trembling hand through his tousled hair, trying to shake off the lingering fear.

His luxurious room gradually came into focus, a stark contrast to the shabby attic from his dream. The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the elegant furnishings and pristine decor.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a moment, catching his breath. His eyes fell on the guest list lying on the sleek, polished table beside him. The names of friends, colleagues, and acquaintances were neatly written, but one name stood out, written in bold red ink: “Evan.”

Allen’s heart tightened at the sight of his brother’s name. He was sure the nightmare was triggered by the thought of inviting Evan to his party. No. He had no interest in inviting his mother or his stepfather—only Evan. Evan was the one who had always stood up for him, the one who had helped him through the most difficult times. There was no way he could host such an important event without Evan.

But he knew that inviting Evan meant reopening old wounds, bringing his painful past back into the present. He could still hear the echoes of the arguments, the harsh words that had been exchanged, and the feeling of helplessness that had consumed him. Yet, despite the pain, it was Evan who had fought for him.