Crown Of Blasphemy: Rise Of The Legendary Villain

"Long!"

"Wake up Long, it's time for your feast!"

A persistent voice roused Mr. Valen from his slumber, his stomach growling in protest as he woke onto the damp floor of the cave, a tent over his head.

His hunger was abysmal at this point, his sense of smell locking onto Thirio's scent, feeding him with information about his current location, his proximity, urging him to pounce.

But he suppressed it.

He was human after all and humans were incredibly gifted at suppressing instincts.

He had been led to this empty tent and informed that this would be his place of residence from now on.

Immediately he found a safe space, he opted to sleep, putting every bit of worry behind him.

Without the ability to think, common sense deserted Mr. Valen, leaving him unable to ask vital questions or ponder glaring clues. Yet the feeling, the primal instinct, remained.

A hand tore through his tent and opened it wide, Mr. Valen didn't even have to look to know that it was Thirio.

This time his upper body was bare, but his nether regions were covered by a loincloth made of leather.

"Hey Thirio, I have something to ask of you," Mr. Valen, who felt more comfortable around the gentle giant, began.

Raising a brow, Thirio nodded, then narrowed his eyes, portraying his undivided attention.

"I would like some garments to cover myself with," Mr. Valen continued, his voice resolute.

Thirio seemed a bit taken aback by that statement, his lips curling in surprise. "Haha, so it's that? Sorry, but I can't help you. In our clan, you have to earn your garments. Besides, you don't need it."

"What do you mean I don't need it," Mr. Valen grunted in protest.

"Well, you traveled with us for days without any problem-"

"Don't worry about it," Mr. Valen cut him short, then got on his feet following Thirio out of his tent. he knew not how long he had been asleep since he came here, but it didn't matter.

He hoped to be able to recover from his mental illness soon, and eating would help with that; the clan had promised him a feast after all.

Like before the dark cave was illuminated by inconsistent shades of red, a color steaming from the fungi that could be found everywhere in this godforsaken place.

It was cultivated on poles, there were specs of it in the tent, the cave's ceilings, walls—they were everywhere.

Looking around, one would notice that everyone else in the clan was also rushing towards a central location.

And he was soon to find out what it was.

In a cold place like, well, this place, heat would be noticed quickly, and Mr. Valen noticed it alright, he could feel it rush through him.

Said feeling was accompanied by illumination, not the dreamy, mind-numbing red he was used to but the orange of heat, of flames.

Simultaneously an aroma hit him quickly, a burnt smell that would otherwise make a normal person nauseous.

The sight before him was busy.

It would seem that some of the tents had been moved to make space for rocks, yes, large rocks that were heated under a controlled flame below.

How they made these flames in such a damp environment was a mystery, and atop these red-hot rocks were mushrooms being grilled.

Pots made of clay were also used to make broth, but there was no meat, none that he could see at least.

Just mushrooms, and other herbs.

"How are they not malnourished," Mr. Valen found himself muttering before his eyes trailed off to a certain person.

Seated at the far end of this party was the unbelievably obese clan leader, his limbs swallowed by folds of fatty flesh, a blob of a human.

"I see you're still following the Long around," a familiar voice could be heard from the side.

Mr. Valen's increased sensitivity to smell immediately told him that it was Ouranos before he even looked.

And when he looked, he realized that apart from a loincloth, she was topless, allowing for a mildly interesting sight.

Alas, Mr. Valen was too consumed by hunger to succumb to the male instinct. He dimly noted the general state of undress in the clan, both men and women, bare-chested.

Of course, there were some like him who had no clothes at all. Additionally, the clan had a festive, almost expectant air about it.

What registered dimly though, was the fact that Ouranos called him "The Long," but of course, he was unable to think too deeply into it.

"How have you been? I have not seen you in a while," Mr. Valen suddenly said in an attempt to strike up a conversation, but he was ignored as Ouranos pulled Thirio aside to speak to him.

"LONG HAHA YOU HAVE ARRIVED, COME! COME!" The clan leader who noticed him yelled beckoning him over and Mr. Valen had no choice but to go.

"Sup," Mr. Valen said without hiding his disregard, but there was no change to the fat clan leader.

Rather, he laughed, "Haha, get this man food, quickly, quickly."

'Something was wrong,' Mr. Valen thought to himself, despite the pain that accompanied it; it did not make sense.

How could-

The pain became unbearable, so much so that Mr. Valen sat down while caressing his brows

Two clay bowls were then brought to him, one filled with the mushroom broth and the other filled with a side of grilled mushrooms.

A balanced diet.

Without much thought and in an effort to drown this annoying, creeping hunger of his, he gobbled down the broth and stuffed his face with shrooms, but it was that same hunger that heightened his senses enough to feel everyone's gaze on him.

But why were they watching him?

They were eating the same thing, and his hunger had not gone down. "More," Mr. Valen muttered, and the clan Chief responded with narrowed eyes, beckoning for a refill.

Again, Mr. Valen consumed this food, but the hunger was still there. One interesting thing to note was that his healing factor had healed him from something.

The mushrooms he was so happily stuffing his face with had psychoactive properties. How did he know? Well, it was due to the fact that every single time he took a gulp or a bite, reality around him would become distorted for a brief moment before his healing factor kicked in.

Yet he ate, and ate, and ate until the look on the faces of the clan people transitioned from that of anticipation to something akin to unease, as if observing a freak.

But the feast went on, Mr. Valen even caught a glimpse of Agrios moving around in his loincloth.

And so the time for rest came, and Mr. Valen was accompanied back to his tent by Thirio, but by now he was so hungry that his mouth watered; even though his stomach was full, it was as though his body was missing something vital.

In fact, it felt like the food exacerbated it; as with each round of healing, his hunger grew.

"Are you ok?" Thirio, who walked beside him, asked, but he received no answer, only silence and heavy breaths.

Another person soon walked up to them as well, it was Agrios, and even though he had lost his original clothing, he still wore that bone mask that covered half his face.

"We need to talk," he said grimly to Thirio, his eyes narrowed to slits.

Ouranos also walked up to the group, and she didn't look happy. "We have to go see the clan leader," she muttered before adding, "he won't be pleased."

"Would you both just shut up and look?" Thirio grumbled, waving toward the pale Mr. Valen. "Can't you see he's not alright?"

"Forget about him, let's go," Agrios urged before walking away, and for a moment Thirio seemed worried before following behind.

Ouranos was the last to leave, casting a long glance at Mr. Valen before walking away.

Mr. Valen staggered toward his tent, the clan's curious gazes prickling his skin like the cave's damp chill.

He knew the cure for the gnawing void within him, the hunger that food only inflamed. but he couldn't bring himself to act—not out of some silly moral compass, but because he was outnumbered.

Killing a member of the clan would most likely incur wrath from the rest, so he staggered to his tent, attracting curious gazes all the way to his tent.

"Long," Mr. Valen felt someone grab his arm, caressing it slightly, and when he turned it was a naked elder that he had not met before.

"Yes?" Mr. Valen answered, fighting the urge to pounce on him and suck him dry.

But the elder just shook his head and walked in, his voice trailing, "What a disappointment, why must we do the festival every time?"

Ignoring the remark, Mr. Valen entered his tent and collapsed on the hard rocky floor, his eyes closing slowly, as he forced himself into a deep slumber, despite the pain.