A Villain's Guide to Saving the World-Chapter 42: The Great Villain! Unleashing Hell...?

Lucian took a step forward—just one—but it hit like a seismic shift.

The air thickened. Movement slowed. A pulse of oppressive weight rippled through the battlefield. A cocktail of Dominions—blood, war, cruelty, villainy, and more unnamed terrors—awoke in tandem, each one lacing the world in its flavor of dread.

As always, their influence began to cloud Lucian’s mind. His thoughts frayed at the edges, darker urges pushing through the cracks.

"Man... this is why I never go full throttle," he muttered with a half-laugh, cracking his neck from side to side.

Then—he bit down on his thumb, almost playfully. Like tasting candy. Blood bloomed instantly, bright and alive.

Across from him, the crimson assassin stiffened, the playful smirk dropping. He could sense it—this wasn’t a joke anymore.

"Well then," the assassin said mockingly, posture sharpening. "Let me wipe that smug look off your face."

In a flicker, one became three—clones peeling from his form like ripples of red silk.

"Get hi—"

Before he could finish, a violent gust of wind tore through the courtyard.

"Falter!" the Third Prince’s voice rang out like a divine decree. He stood triumphant over the defeated rank-and-file assassins, his sword dripping crimson.

He cast a glance toward Lucian, raising an eyebrow at the shift in aura—but words weren’t needed. He simply nodded.

"I’ll handle the others. I trust you’ve got this."

Then—"Haste!"

He vanished in a blur, the grass beneath him curling in a swirl of smoke.

Lucian smirked, then turned back to the assassin trio. Slowly, he stretched out his arms, letting the blood from his thumb fall.

It hit the earth softly—and then bent to his will.

Blood spread unnaturally wide, pooling like ink before rising into a floating halo behind him, flickering and pulsing like a living curse.

"Cursed Crimson Dance," he whispered, lips curling into a hollow smile.

The blood responded—splitting into dozens of tendrils, streaks of dark crimson that surged like guided spears toward the nearest two assassins.

The trio only laughed, unfazed by the Third Prince’s earlier display.

"Is that it?" one taunted. "I’ve seen barons conjure better!"

They attacked in perfect sync.

The first clone moved like liquid shadow, his body blurring with a fusion of blood and darkness.

The second spun his spear, now coated in those same elements, using them as blades in motion.

The original? He simply watched—cold, calculating, reading Lucian’s every move like a scholar at war.

The crimson tendrils honed in on the charging clones, ignoring the original entirely.

Lucian chuckled. "Did you really think... that was all?"

He spun sharply, halting mid-motion with a flourish—

—and the air behind him tore open.

Glowing rifts burned in a ring of violet fire: infernal portals from Vael’s Dominion—unleashed for the first time in what felt like ages.

"Three..." Lucian grinned, crimson bleeding into his eyes.

"Versus a thousand."

He pointed a single finger, dramatic and unbothered.

The world responded.

"Infernal Exodus!"

Hellspawn poured out in a stampede of clawed limbs and shrieking laughter, their misshapen bodies crawling, flying, snarling into the fray.

Lucian didn’t care if anyone saw him using demonic Dominions. Not anymore.

The two figures closed in on Lucian, their steps slowing with hesitation—but not stopping.

Despite the overwhelming odds, they pressed on, each wielding spears better suited for skirmishes than all-out war. And now, they faced not only Lucian... but his army of chaos.

The assassins moved swiftly, weaving through the swarming Imps and dodging the relentless crimson tendrils that hunted them with vicious precision. All the while, the original remained perfectly still—frozen like a statue, eyes sharp, unreadable.

The assassin paused, calculating his next move. His clones were doing their job, keeping Lucian distracted, but even he could feel it—the shift in the air, the weight of Lucian’s power. The original’s mask flickered with momentary uncertainty. "You’re toying with me, aren’t you?"

Lucian barely spared him a glance.

He stretched his arms wide, drawing in every ounce of his gathered power. Shadows curled. Blood hissed. And behind the original, the abyssal snake coiled tighter around the struggling clone it had swallowed—before collapsing into a singularity of pressure, crushing its prey into oblivion.

One down. Cleanly.

Lucian flicked his wrist.

Across the courtyard, every blade of grass shimmered—then sharpened.

Emerald blades rose like an ocean of knives, quivering with tension.

"Dominion of War: Living Battlefield!" Lucian laughed, grin feral. "Let’s see how you like my version!"

A thousand blades readied themselves to strike. Still, Lucian ignored the original, channeling everything into the remaining two. The spearmen fought valiantly—cutting down Imps, ducking crimson whips, leaping over razor grass—but they gained no ground.

They couldn’t even get close.

Lucian clapped his hands together with a thunderous crack.

From that single gesture, a sonic shockwave rippled through the air—

—and the living grass snapped, launching thousands of tiny daggers toward the two.

"Two down..." Lucian said with eerie confidence, even before the results were clear.

He just knew.

The twin assassins vanished in a blur of motion—

—but not fast enough.

The convergence was overwhelming. Thousands of projectiles surged at once, accompanied by an endless tide of shrieking Imps. In a matter of seconds, the two were engulfed—cut to ribbons, their forms dissolved into mist and gore beneath the onslaught.

Only one remained.

The original crimson assassin finally moved.

He rested his spear on his shoulder and exhaled slowly. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

"...Seems like we’re outmatched."

Lucian laughed—a sharp, cruel sound echoing through the blood-soaked courtyard.

"Clearly," he sneered.

He took another step forward. Behind him, the portals hissed shut, and the remaining Imps exploded into gore—splattering the field in a grotesque display of power. Lucian’s once-pristine ebony suit was now drenched in crimson, a grim contrast to his composed demeanor.

"Let me finish you myself," he said, voice calm but brimming with menace.

With a fluid motion, he traced a circle through the air. Flames sparked between his palms—then roared outward. Hellfire manifested, licking at the sky as he stretched his arms wide once more.

Lucian exhaled slowly.

The battlefield was quiet now—if you ignored the smoldering earth, the twitching limbs of half-formed Imps, and the scent of blood that clung to the grass like perfume.

He looked down at his hands, flexed his fingers. The power hadn’t faded. Not yet. The Dominions still stirred, whispering in ancient tongues. Begging him to keep going. To destroy more. To feed the flame.

The crimson assassin finally spoke, his voice rough with disbelief.

"You’re a fucking demon..."

The assassin’s eyes narrowed, his grip on his spear tightening. He had trained in the shadows, faced monsters and legends, but this—this was something different. Lucian wasn’t just an opponent; he was an element of destruction.

Still, the assassin held onto his bravado. Fear had no place in his heart, not when survival was at stake. He had survived worse. He would survive this. But he couldn’t help the flicker of doubt that flashed in his mind when the hellfire began to rise.

The power Lucian now wielded didn’t just burn—it judged. It reminded him of the stories whispered in the assassin halls. Not of men, but monsters who wore suits and spoke with velvet voices while the world bled around them.

"How...?" he muttered, as much to himself as to fate.

Then instinct took over. Survival always won.

There was recognition in his tone. He understood what this meant.

A human—no, a noble—wielding hellfire, a power reserved for the Dark Lords themselves. It was sacrilege. It was impossible.

And yet... here Lucian stood.

"Both literally, and metaphorically," the assassin muttered with a bitter laugh. Then, without warning, he feinted a lunge—

—and burst backward, vanishing in a blur of motion.

"I’m not stupid enough to fight you head-on!" he shouted, laughter trailing behind him. It was half-mad, half-thrilled. Fear and excitement mixed in the voice of a man who realized the game he was in was far beyond what he’d planned for.

Lucian didn’t move.

He simply raised both arms with a conductor’s grace—commanding, deliberate.

The hellfire answered.

The ground trembled.

Pillars of flame erupted in pursuit of the fleeing assassin, moving faster than he could track—one, then another, and another, each rising ahead of him, trapping him in.

Before he could react, the final pillar surged skyward, forming a towering wall of fire directly in his path.

Too late.

The assassin slammed into it, and the flames didn’t part—they held. The wall burned with such density and heat that it behaved more like obsidian than fire, stopping him cold and sending him crashing back, his cloak igniting at the edges.

"Shit..." he cursed, twisting mid-air and forcing himself upright, eyes locked on Lucian.

Lucian only smiled.

Shrugged.

Toyed.

The smile of someone who knew exactly how this would end.

The Third Prince appeared a heartbeat later, sword still dripping.

His eyes scanned the ruin—and landed on Lucian.

"You weren’t kidding about being full of surprises," he said quietly.

Lucian didn’t respond.

The Prince’s gaze narrowed. "Hellfire. Summons. That kind of power doesn’t come cheap. Who are you, really?"

Lucian met his gaze—and smiled.

"Didn’t you already know? Lucian, obviously."