I'm the Villain, But the Heroines Keep Choosing Me-Chapter 82: Blood, Shadows, and Desperate Faith

Seria moved first.

Not charging blindly – that would be suicide against something this powerful – but a calculated feint, testing the Demon General’s reaction speed. Her paired swords flashed in precise arcs designed to probe defenses rather than commit to killing strikes.

The General blocked casually with one hand, not even using its blade. The impact sent shockwaves through Seria’s arms, nearly disarming her.

"Disappointing," it said. "I expected more from the guard captain who killed Marcus."

Then it moved.

Fast. Impossibly fast for something that large. Its blade swept in a horizontal arc that would have bisected Seria if Damien’s shadows hadn’t yanked her backward, pulling her out of the strike zone by pure instinct.

The blade passed through where she’d been standing, and the air itself screamed. The cobblestones behind her exploded from the displaced force.

[DEMON GENERAL: DEMONSTRATING OVERWHELMING POWER]

"Noted," Seria gasped, finding her footing. "That thing is faster than it looks."

"Everything about it is worse than expected," Damien said, his voice taking on the flat quality that meant corruption was climbing. "Elara, can your divine magic hurt it?"

"Only if I can hit it." Elara’s hands blazed brighter, golden energy coalescing into focused spears of light. She launched three simultaneously, each one tracking toward the General from different angles.

The demon’s blade moved in a blur, deflecting two spears. The third struck its shoulder armor and detonated in a burst of holy fire.

The General staggered, actually stumbled, smoke rising from scorched crystal armor.

"Yes!" Elara’s voice carried triumph. "It’s vulnerable to holy magic!"

"But not vulnerable enough," the General corrected, straightening. Where the holy fire had struck, the armor was already regenerating, black crystal flowing like liquid to repair the damage. "Your goddess’s power stings, little Saintess. But pain is temporary. Let me show you what lasts."

It pointed its free hand at Elara, and darkness erupted – not shadows like Damien used, but something older, wronger. The darkness had weight and hunger, reaching for Elara like grasping hands.

Damien intercepted with his own shadows, and where the two darknesses met, reality screamed.

The collision created a shockwave that shattered windows in the surrounding buildings. Civilians still evacuating screamed and ran. Seria’s soldiers formed protective barriers with their bodies, shields raised against the debris.

"Interesting," the General observed, its blade still idle. "Your shadows fight my darkness. You’ve touched deeper power than I anticipated, human. Perhaps you’re worth recruiting after all."

"Seria, pattern Delta-4," Damien said, ignoring the demon’s words. His shadows were straining against the demonic darkness, barely holding. "Elara, wait for opening. Three-count."

Seria knew Delta-4. High-risk maneuver they’d drilled during investigation partnership. She’d go low while Damien created overhead distraction, opening blind spot for third attack.

She moved on instinct, dropping into slide that carried her past the shadow-versus-darkness clash, her blades aimed at the General’s knee joints where armor segments connected.

Her right sword bit into the gap. Drew black ichor. First blood.

The General’s backhand caught her mid-slide, slamming her into a stone wall with force that cracked ribs and drove the air from her lungs.

Pain exploded through her torso. She tasted blood.

"Seria!" Elara’s voice was sharp with fear.

The distraction cost her. The demonic darkness stopped fighting Damien’s shadows and lashed out at the Saintess instead. Elara raised a golden barrier barely in time, but the impact drove her to her knees.

"Tactical error," the General said conversationally, advancing on Elara. "Emotional attachment creates exploitable weakness you see? Your enemy threatens one anchor, both others lose focus. Predictable and utterly disappointing."

Damien appeared between the General and Elara, shadow blade meeting crystal sword in a clash that lit the plaza with black and silver light.

For three seconds, he held. Matching strength, matching speed, his enhanced abilities pushed to absolute limit.

Then the General’s blade shifted angle – just slightly, just enough – and Damien’s guard broke.

The crystal sword cut across his shoulder, opening a gash that would have severed the arm if he hadn’t twisted away at the last instant.

[DAMIEN: INJURED]

[CORRUPTION: 8.2% → 11.4%]

[EMOTIONAL CAPACITY: DEGRADING]

"Damien!" Elara scrambled to her feet, golden light already forming for healing.

"Don’t," Damien said flatly. His eyes were colder now, the corruption surging from combat stress and injury. "Heal Seria. She’s compromised. I can still fight."

"You’re bleeding – "

"No, heal Seria." Command, not request. The corruption making him tactical rather than caring. "We need her combat able, I can manage. Patch her up, get her back in the fight. I’ll hold this position."

Seria wanted to argue – could see him getting colder, more detached, the humanity fading with every second – but recognized the tactical truth. If she couldn’t continue fighting, their chances would drop significantly.

Elara moved to Seria, hands pressing against broken ribs. Golden light flowed, knitting bone, soothing pain. The healing was faster and more aggressive than Seria had experienced before – Elara wasn’t being gentle, she was being efficient.

"He’s getting worse," Elara whispered while healing. "The corruption. I can feel it. We’re losing him."

"Can you bring him back?" Seria tested her ribs. Still hurt but functional.

"Not while he’s actively fighting. The combat keeps pushing the corruption higher." Elara’s voice was strained. "We need to end this. Fast. Before he crosses threshold where we can’t retrieve him."

"Working on it." Seria stood, swords ready, and turned back to the fight.

Damien was holding his own – barely. The General wasn’t pressing hard, just testing, learning, playing with its prey. Every exchange taught it more about Damien’s patterns, his limits, his capabilities.

It was studying him like a researcher studies specimen.

"Your shadow magic is crude," the General observed, deflecting another strike. "Raw power with minimal refinement. You’re wielding a sledgehammer when you could have a scalpel. Join us, and we’ll teach you proper technique."

"I’ll pass." Damien’s voice was emotionless now. Pure tactical response. "Seria, approach vector seven. Elara, suppressing fire pattern Gamma. Go."

They moved without question – Seria flanking wide right while Elara launched a barrage of golden spears from the left. Pincer attack, forcing the General to divide attention.

The demon blocked Elara’s assault while tracking Seria’s approach, its blade moving in defensive pattern that covered both angles simultaneously.

But it had forgotten about Damien.

Shadows erupted from beneath the General, solid spears of darkness punching upward through gaps in its armor. Black ichor sprayed as three spears found purchase – one through the thigh, two into the abdomen.

"Acceptable," Damien said tonelessly. "He’s wounded. Capitalize."

He was gone. The warmth was completely absent from his voice. Just cold assessment now.

[CORRUPTION: 11.4% → 13.8%]

[WARNING: CRITICAL THRESHOLD APPROACHING]

"Damien, pull back!" Elara’s voice was desperate. "You’re too far gone – "

"I can’t. My combat effectiveness remains high. The emotional compromise is acceptable cost for this mission success." He was already moving for another strike, shadows coiling around him like armor. "Seria, coordinate assault pattern Delta-9. Elara, maintain ranged pressure. Execute immediately."

Seria felt cold horror. This wasn’t Damien anymore. This was the corruption talking – efficient and completely without empathy or self-preservation instinct.

But he was also right. The General was wounded. They had momentum. If they pulled back now to address his corruption, they’d lose the advantage and probably die.

"Delta-9," she confirmed, hating herself. "Executing."