Villain: Your Heroines Were Delicious-Chapter 206 - 71

Just then, as the obsidian teeth of the Mister’s gargantuan maw began to close around Seijirou’s head, time seemed to decelerate into a thick, syrupy crawl.

The "Seeker" within Seijirou roared—not in fear, but in a cold, absolute refusal of the current reality.

His very soul would never accept such ending.

At that moment, Seijirou’s hands shot out with the speed of a striking viper, his fingers, reinforced by the silver-gold Ki of his Origin, dug into the upper and lower ridges of the Mister’s distended jaw.

He caught the bite, and held it.

However, the pressure was immense, it was as if mister’s jaw muscles had the crushing power of a hydraulic press, and the sheer weight of the Mister’s transformed body bore down on him.

Not to mention the oily, foul-smelling saliva dripped from the open maw, sizzling as it hit Seijirou’s flaring aura.

Mister’s countless eyes widened in a wave of disbelief, his muffled voice bubbled through the grease in his throat, a sound of pure confusion. "Whah!? Hah!?"

Then, Seijirou began to push.

He slowly stood up from his kneeling position, his muscles corded like steel cables, his boots grinding into the concrete of the rooftop.

Then, with a guttural, primal roar that drowned out the whistling wind, he exerted a burst of divine force as he gripped the flesh and bone and...ripped!

The sound was sickening—the wet tearing of supernatural muscle and the sharp snap of reinforced bone.

Seijirou tore open Mister’s massive mouth, completely bifurcating the lower jaw and pulling it down toward the monster’s chest.

"AAAAHHHHH!"

Mister let out a shrill, piercing screech of agony as he stumbled back, his hands—now returning to a more human shape—clutching at the ruined mess of his face.

He fell to the floor, rolling around in a frantic, undignified heap as rivers of black ichor poured out of his ripped jaw, staining the rooftop.

Seijirou stood tall, his breathing heavy and ragged, blood from the previous stabs leaked from his stomach and shoulders, but he didn’t falter.

He stood in the center of the moonlight, looking at mister like a silver-gold specter of retribution.

"Heh." He let out a dark, mocking smirk, wiping a trail of blood from his chin. "You think injuries like this are enough to kill me? Don’t make me laugh. If you want me to stay down, you’ll have to do better than that. At least cut off my head and rip out my heart if you want to see me stop."

Seijirou was not exaggerating for the sake of bravado. This was the truth, and this is due to the power of his Origin.

Unlike other Origins or Karyoku whose powers that were purely offensive or defensive, the Seeker operated on a contract of absolute causality.

It had a strict requirement before its peak potential could be tapped, and to do that, Seijirou had to place himself under a self-imposed curse.

During the activation of his Origin, he had to specify a singular, absolute goal, and in doing so, he placed a conceptual constraint upon his own existence: "This body will not fall until I achieve my desired outcome."

It was the ultimate survival mechanism, turning him into an unstoppable juggernaut of will.

It might sound good, but the drawback was also terrible.

Any injuries he received that were not directly related to the pursuit of his set goal would be magnified by several folds.

Basically, his body would become as fragile as glass to anything outside his goal.

For example, the goal he had set this time was to "Kill the Mister and destroy his organization by any means necessary."

Which means, if an enemy who were not part of the organisation were to sneak attack him now, he would probably be end up completely immobile!

Not to mention not being to fall doesn’t mean he is immune to pain.

He actually felt every nerve-ending screaming, he felt the cold air whistling through the hole in his stomach! Everything, he felt it! 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

But for now, as long as the Mister drew breath, Seijirou’s heart would continue to beat, and his muscles would continue to fire, regardless of how much blood he lost.

Just then, the heap of flesh across the rooftop began to stir.

"You!" Mister shrieked.

He scrambled to his feet, the black ichor knitting his jaw back together in a grotesque display of regeneration.

His eyes were wide with a frantic, superstitious terror. "How are you still alive!? I pierced your vitals! I felt your heart stop! You should be a corpse!"

"Guess," Seijirou said, his voice flat as he raised his hands, and another pair of Ki blades hummed into existence, their edges sharper and more stable than before.

"Tsk, it doesn’t matter! I killed you once, I can kill you again! I will grind you into paste!" Mister roared, his ego finally shattering into madness.

At his command, the dozens of "Mini-Mister" clones that surrounded the rooftop once again manifested their blade-like tentacles.

They moved in unison, a forest of black spears poised to strike.

"This again? How boring. You’ve become predictable," Seijirou noted.

Before the clones could launch their coordinated strike, Seijirou moved.

He didn’t dodge like mister expected, but instead he surged forward with extreme, explosive speed, closing the gap to the original Mister in a heartbeat.

He reached out and grabbed the monster by his regenerating face, his fingers digging into the soft, oily flesh.

With a surge of strength, Seijirou spun, yanking the gargantuan man into the path of his own clones.

Instantly, a wet, piercing chorus of sound echoed across the rooftop as thousands of blade-like tentacles, intended for Seijirou, instead pierced through the Mister’s own body.

The clones, unable to stop their momentum, turned their master into a human pincushion.

"AaAahHa!" Mister struggled in Seijirou’s iron grip, his body jerking as the blades of his own creation tore through his liver, lungs, and stomach.

He roared in a mixture of pain and impotent fury.

Seijirou stepped forward, using the Mister as a meat shield, walking calmly toward the perimeter of clones while the "original" kept screaming in agony.

"STOP!" Mister roared, a command that vibrated through the air.

The clones immediately dissolved, turning back into puddles of black oily liquid that flowed across the concrete and merged back into the Mister’s primary mass.

The blades disappeared from his body, leaving him gasping and weakened.

Seijirou didn’t give him a second to breathe as he instantly drove his Ki blade into the Mister’s heart with enough force to knock the giant man onto the floor.

He pinned him there, the silver-gold blade buried deep in the rooftop’s concrete through the Mister’s chest.

Mister stared up at him, his eyes fluttering, his mouth working to form words. "Tell me, Kageyama... what are you—"

He didn’t get to finish as Seijirou manifested a second blade and stabbed it directly through the Mister’s open mouth, pinning his head to the floor and silencing the monster’s voice.

"Didn’t I already say it?" Seijirou whispered, leaning over him. "I’m here to violently kill you. So don’t bother talking to me. Your words are just noise."

Mister’s countless eyes turned a dark, bruised red, bloodshot with a desperate, final spite.

He tried to push himself up, the black liquid of his body bubbling around the blades, but Seijirou applied more Ki, the divine pressure pinning the monster down like an insect under a thumb.

"Don’t bother," Seijirou said. "I’ll pin you here until the sun rises if I have to."

"KAGEYAMA!"

The voice didn’t come from the pinned mouth, but instead it erupted from the countless mouths across the Mister’s chest and arms, a discordant, multi-layered shout. "How dare you!? I will make you suffer! You think you’ve won!? You think this ends with me!? I’ll cause you an even greater trouble! Come out! MY LORD, COME OUT!"

Suddenly, the black oily substance seethed and boiled, seeping out of the Mister’s pores in a violent torrent.

The entity, the fragment of the void, abandoned its host and once again formed into its own separate, ghostly shape, floating above the rooftop—a mass of eyes and darkness that seemed to hunger for the very stars.

Mister laughed, blood spraying from his ruined mouth, ignoring the sword through his jaw. "Hahahaha! Go! Cause chaos in this world! If I cannot have it, no one shall!"

The entity began to flicker, turning translucent as it prepared to vanish into the city, where it could feast on thousands of innocent souls.

Seijirou’s eyes widened.

He couldn’t let it escape!

With that thought, he released his grip on the blades and instantly manifested a spear made of pure, concentrated Ki.

Then, with a grunt of effort, he hurled it at the disappearing phantom.

It hit.

The entity let out a soul-piercing shriek of pain as the silver-gold light burned through its core.

Seijirou scrambled to create another spear, but before his fingers could close around the energy, the entity vanished into the night, wounded but still free.

"Shit," Seijirou cursed, his shoulders slumping.

"Hahaha! Hahaha!" Mister’s laughter was a wet, dying rattle as he watched the spot where his "God" had vanished with a look of twisted triumph. "Suffer... I want this whole world to suffer... just as I did..."

Those were his final words.

The supernatural essence that had been sustaining his bloated form was gone.

Without the help of the entity, Kurosaki Kirei’s boss, the "Mister" was now just a man—a man with two swords through his vitals.

He gasped once, his body shuddering, and then he went still.

The "Mister" was dead.

Seijirou stood over the corpse, frowning at the empty sky.

Then, a sudden, overwhelming wave of vertigo hit him, his vision blurred, and the moonlight seemed to spin.

The goal had been achieved.

The Mister was dead.

The organization’s heart was extinguished.

The goal was complete.

Instantly, the curse of the Seeker lifted, and the adrenaline, the divine reinforcement, and the unnatural durability vanished in a heartbeat.

The pain of the stab wounds in his stomach and shoulder, which had been held at bay by his will, rushed in like a tidal wave.

"No... not now... just a bit more..." Seijirou muttered, his hands reaching out to steady himself.

But his body refused to listen.

His legs gave way, and the "King" dropped to the blood-stained rooftop, slipping into the dark as the sound of police sirens finally began to wail in the streets below.