Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives

Capítulo 1927: Recovery

Villain Ch 1927. Recovery

His ridiculous, stunning, terrifying, wonderful girls.

Allen exhaled again.

“…I still want breakfast.”

“Delivery?” Jane offered, sitting up now, hoodie sliding down one shoulder, stickers still everywhere.

“Can they deliver electrolytes?”

“Hangover pack?” Vivian offered.

“We are in the middle of mountain villa,” he reminded them.

Zoe mumbled, “Or just drag him to the spring again…”

“No,” Allen said firmly. “No water. Not after last time.”

Alice cackled.

Jane leaned over and kissed his cheek. “We’ll make you something. Sit tight.”

Azura clung tighter. “Nooo…”

Jane smirked. “You can feed him after, princess.”

Azura buried her face deeper into Allen’s chest, clearly not letting go.

Allen let his head fall back to the pillow.

“…I regret everything.”

Laughter. Groggy, warm, sleepy laughter.

It wasn’t loud. More like… weak chuckles from the half-dead. From the beautifully wrecked.

Sheets rustled. Someone groaned. A pillow hit the floor. But no one rushed to move. The air smelled like sleep, sex, and that faint cling of lavender detergent no one really cared about when your entire body felt like jelly.

Allen peeled his face off the pillow slowly. Sweat-stuck hair. Ache in his shoulders. A crick in his neck from sleeping in a literal pile of women like some absurd romance sim endgame.

But hey. Worth it.

Barely.

He extricated himself gently, Azura whining when he slipped free, Jane grabbing his wrist on reflex like she was tagging him back into the battlefield.

“I’ll be back,” he whispered.

“You said that last night and then someone handcuffed you to the bed,” Jane muttered without even opening her eyes.

“Not my fault Shea brought props.”

“She always brings props,” Zoe mumbled from the floor.

Allen didn’t respond. He just dragged himself to the bathroom like a war vet.

Ten minutes later, he stepped out, freshly showered, towel slung around his neck, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends. He wore a loose black T-shirt and dark joggers. Barefoot.

His eyes still screamed “sleep-deprived demon king,” but at least he wasn’t coated in glitter and chocolate anymore.

The hallway was too quiet.

Too… not chaotic.

The kitchen held the answer.

They tried.

Yup, they tried.

Allen paused at the doorway. Blinked. Took in the sight.

Vivian was sitting cross-legged on the island counter, eating a whole apple like she was running on one brain cell and leftover lust fumes.

Bella wore one of his shirts, buttoned wrong, sleeves too long. She held a spatula like a weapon and stared at the stove like it had personally betrayed her.

Larissa was in an apron. Just an apron. Literally. Not even pretending to put on pants. She stirred scrambled eggs in a bowl with slow, zombie-like motions. Her hair was up in a half-tied mess that screamed ‘I gave up at some point and I regret nothing.’

Alice made some tea.

Azura sat at the table, wearing one of Allen’s hoodies, sleeves covering her hands. Her face was half-hidden behind a coffee mug. Still red. Probably still embarrassed. But not running.

That was growth.

Jane was laying on the bench. Literally laying. Horizontal. With toast in her mouth like she was a background character in an anime.

Zoe was crouched on the floor, digging through the fridge.

Shea? Shea sat at the head of the table like a mafia boss after a week-long rave. Sunglasses. No pants. Bite marks all over her shoulder. She slowly drank a tall glass of milk like it was whiskey.

No one talked.

No one screamed.

No one flirted.

They just… existed.

And that breakfast?

Well.

There were fruits. Some diced. Some not. Some half-bitten.

A plate of scrambled eggs that looked more like egg mush.

A couple slices of bread, unevenly toasted. One was suspiciously burnt.

Butter… still cold.

Bacon. Too crispy.

Sausages that looked like they’d been cooked in emotional pain.

Coffee. Tea. Milk. Orange juice that may or may not have been mixed with leftover wine.

Allen stared.

It was so different than yesterday’s glamorous.

But no one complained.

Because they were all too tired.

Too wrecked.

Too… alive.

“…I love you all,” Allen said, voice flat, as he walked to the table and dropped into the nearest chair.

Jane raised her toast in the air. “And we barely killed you.”

Vivian snorted. “Victory.”

Allen grabbed a slice of toast, sniffed it. Decided against it. Took the bacon instead. Chewed. Too crunchy. But food was food.

“You good?” Zoe asked, finally dragging herself up with a carton of juice she didn’t bother pouring into a glass. She just drank from it.

“No,” Allen said. “But I’m not dead. So that’s a start.”

He reached for the fruit bowl. Took a bite from something that might’ve been mango. Too ripe. Sweet. Sticky.

Silence settled again. The kind that wasn’t awkward—just… necessary.

Recovery.

Larissa stirred her eggs like her soul depended on it. Then she blinked. Looked up.

“That chocolate…” Allen said slowly, licking butter from his finger, “your chocolate.” He looked at her. “It was stronger than last time. I felt hotter. Like… burning.”

“It’s food safe, though. Don’t worry,” Larissa said, unbothered.

“That’s debatable,” Vivian muttered.

Azura choked on her coffee. “So that’s why I kept feeling… um… I thought it was just me.”

“It was you,” Jane said with a lazy smirk. “But that chocolate made it worse.”

Allen leaned back in his chair, rubbed his temples. “No wonder I felt like a furnace. My d*ck was radiating heat like a cursed relic.”

Bella finally spoke, deadpan, “I had a dream I was riding a dragon. Now I know why.”

Shea raised her glass of milk. “To Larissa’s hell-chocolate.”

Everyone raised something. A cup, a fork, a slice of sausage.

“To hell-chocolate.”

They clinked. Kinda. Some missed.

Allen just closed his eyes for a second.

And breathed.

The sunlight filtered through the massive windows, casting golden stripes over their ruined breakfast table. Their eyes were puffy, their limbs bruised from things they probably wouldn’t talk about in public.

And yet…

There was something beautiful in it.

No pretense. No masks.

Just them.

Raw.

Real.

Alive.

Allen smiled to himself.

“…I still can’t feel my legs,” he muttered.

“Good,” Jane said. “Means we did it right.”

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