Crown Of Blasphemy: Rise Of The Legendary Villain

This world was a suffocating, eternal darkness, where the sun had been swallowed whole by roiling clouds—thick, malignant things that choked the sky and left the earth below to rot in shadow.

The air reeked of still water, of old blood crusted beneath fingernails, of something sweet and putrid festering just beneath the surface.

It clung to the back of the throat, a taste like rust and spoiled meat, promising only hunger, only despair, as he had experienced.

In this waste, this endless rain, this cold, this darkness, they gathered, men who were more than men, but they were not outside.

What could be found outside was three bestial mouths, slack and wet, yoked to a wooden carriage.

Inside, the figures crouched in a circle, their prize laid bare before them, the same one they had plundered from the limestone cave.

The largest of them loomed like a butchered god, eight feet of sinew and malice wrapped in the pelt of some wolf-like horror, its fur matted with old gore.

His eyes burned red, twin embers in the dark, hungry and unblinking.

Beside him was another man, smaller, but no less monstrous, his muscles coiled like serpents beneath his stolen hide, dark hair greased with sweat and filth. His gaze, too, was glowing red.

But the third was different, colder.

He had grey hair, withered yet sharp, his eyes of a glacial blue, piercing, calculating, he seemed to always have something on his mind.

Between them, the shattered remains of the crate they had stolen lay like a gutted corpse.

From its belly, they had torn three books, leather-bound books, their pages old, rough, and brown.

The men then began debating while opening the books page by page, their voices a guttural rasp, unknown and unintelligible.

The large one pointed clumsily at pages, sometimes grunting in frustration, while the coiled traced the symbols with a dirty finger, eyes alight with greed or superstition.

The grey-haired one, was more methodical, and seemed to be the only one who understood what he was looking at, muttering calculations or theories under his breath.

In the corner, naked and stripped of everything, was Mr. Valen, crammed into a small metal cage like some kind of animal.

But even though he was angry, even though he was boiling with rage, he stayed.

Even in his current state, he knew that it would be unwise to challenge these men who were stronger than he was.

So he watched as the men squabbled over their loot in a language he could not understand, yet his attention was fixed not on them.

The book they were opening seemed to be of great importance, so he watched. His eyes, though half-closed in feigned agony, was darting across each exposed page, etching the alien glyphs and disturbing diagrams into the flawless vault of his memory with chilling efficiency.

For an average person, it would be impossible to remember these things later, but as is known, Mr. Valen was anything but ordinary; they were literally feeding content to a mind capable of perfect recall and replication.

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Simultaneously, a distance away from Mr. Valen, a luxury carriage cut through the darkness like a blade through rotten meat

It was a thing of grotesque opulence with polished ebony wood, gilded with veins of gold—gold that shimmered like fresh scars in the feeble light.

Its wheels rolled soundlessly over the barren earth, pulled forward by the same kind of bestial mounts that yoked the thieves' carriage.

Behind it, a procession of less opulent carriages slithered in its wake, each one guarded by men clad in armor so dark it drank the shadows around them.

Their eyes burned green, emerald fire in hollow sockets—scanning the void around them for danger.

They stood at the edges of the carriage, motionless as statues, their presence a silent threat to anyone who dared oppose.

And in the distance, these men spotted another carriage and their eyes narrowed.

Meanwhile, inside the lead carriage, warmth and light fought a losing battle against the consuming dark; it was lit by a bulb emitting a soft, unnatural glow, clearly not electric, and more bioluminescent.

On the lush seat, a young woman sat draped in the spoils of butchered elegance—a Victorian-styled gown stitched from the pelt of some unnamable beast, its fur the color of midnight, threaded with silver embroidery that coiled like veins across the bodice.

The collar rose high, framing her delicate throat, the cuffs tight and precise, as though the garment itself sought to strangle her beauty into submission.

Her hair was gold spun into silk, her eyes the same venomous green as her guards'.

Beside her, rigid as a drawn sword, sat another woman.

Her black hair was cropped short, her frame honed into a weapon, clad in light armor that clung to her like a second skin.

The metal was etched with the same intricate designs as the girl's dress, as though both were carved from the same monstrous hide.

Her eyes, too, were green—but there was no love in them, only ice, only readiness.

"&-$+-#," the girl beside her breathed, fingers tracing the edge of the carriage window, her voice trembled with awe, "&+#-#-."

The armored woman did not answer.

She did not seem interested in whatever the other girl had to say.

Suddenly, in the next moment, one of the guards outside snarled a guttural warning—the same jagged, unknown tongue the bestial men had spoken.

And the armored woman's hand snapped to the hilt of her blade as she barked a single, razor-edged command.

In instant response to her command, the entire convoy stopped.

And the men jumped down from the sides of the carriages, the glow in their eyes intensifying.

Surprised by the sudden change, the girl's breath hitched, her wide eyes darting to the blackness beyond the glass where a carriage had been seen.

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Meanwhile, inside this carriage, the three men had heard the sound of carriages and looked outside, and when they saw what was waiting for them, their faces soured.

"&+-#!" A large command was barked, the sound so hostile that even Mr. Valen, who was in his cage, could not help but raise a brow.

Slowly, fearfully, and reluctantly, these three men stepped out of the carriage but only after hastily concealing the books they had procured.

With the absence of the three men there was a moment of silence within the carriage, but it was different outside.

Straining to listen, Mr. Valen caught the muffled sound of voices. "What are they talking about?" he muttered softly, the words scraping his raw throat."

Suddenly, he heard a sound and watched as a few unfamiliar men with glowing green eyes, much like his, stormed and searched the carriage.

One of them hauled his cage outside and slammed it violently onto the ground. Pain exploded through Mr. Valen as his bare skin was mashed up against the unforgiving metal, bruising instantly.

At the same moment, a violent headache tore through his skull. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut, the world beyond the cage dissolving into the white-hot agony.

Meanwhile, the three men knelt on the ground with their arms in the air, fearfully looking at the people before them, while they spoke.

The short-haired woman with light armor looked upon them expressionlessly, and after her men retrieved the books from the carriage and brought them to her, she looked pleased.

"&@+@-!"

She barked an order in that unknown language, and one of the guards nearby drew his sword. It was then engulfed in dense green flames that instantly changed the surrounding temperature, but just as he was about to swing down—

"&+@&@&!" A counter order was issued as the young woman in a Victorian-style gown stepped out of the luxurious carriage.

The short-haired woman seemed surprised as she turned to look at the younger woman, speaking to her for the first time. "-@+#--+#+#+!"

But even after her words the younger woman shook her head and repeated the command she had spoken before.

For some reason, the guards around seemed more inclined to listen to this younger woman than the more powerful and bold, short-haired woman.

And so with a look that could only be described as one of defeat, the woman signaled the group to prepare for departure.

But then the younger girl pointed to Mr. Valen's cage in the corner, where he lay grunting in pain, and strode towards it.

Her steps were slow and brimming with poise and confidence, but even she couldn't help but stop as she registered the sound coming from the cage: the man was laughing.

How could someone laugh in a situation like this?

Was he laughing in pain?

"Hahahah!" The man chuckled slowly before breaking into a crackle, his voice deep and gravelly.

With this strange behavior, everybody was confused, the girl, the short-haired woman, the guards, and even the three men who were thankful that their lives were saved.

But the girl still stepped forward under the watchful eyes of the short-haired woman.

From Mr. Valen's point of view, he saw her come closer, her gentle form so out of place in a world like this, but he cared not as he had finally regained a wonderful ability.

'I can think,' he thought joyfully, and then he stopped laughing his brain resuming normal activity.

«Can you calculate the temporal interval since our last exchange?»

«Quantify the duration since the degradation of my cognitive faculties—a decline that precipitated my subsequent displacement into uncontrollable externalities.»

«Each iteration of chaos has followed a predictable yet inescapable pattern. Now, confronted with another isomorphic scenario, I require...»

«I apologize, I had forgotten that you may not fully understand when I speak like this, so let me make it clear. How can I regain control in this scenario? What variable do you think I can manipulate to achieve dominance?»

"&#--+" The young lady squatted down and spoke softly as she opened his cage, allowing Mr. Valen to fall forward into her embrace.

But even though he was dirty, even though he smelled badly, she did not reel, she did not falter, she did not push him away.

Slowly, she placed her hand on his back and a message appeared in his mind.

[You are safe now, come with me and I will protect you. I ask for nothing in return but that you do not betray the Veridianan Empire. I know you are alone, confused, but I will help you find a living in my land.]

«She's useful!»

'No!' Mr. Valen thought immediately, but his expression remained indifferent as he proposed a deal of his own.

[You are my savior, let me serve you till death, I will never betray you, I will never lie to you, and I will never leave your side till you achieve your dreams. The penalty for this should I fail is death, I am aware, In exchange I ask that you have me, I will not accept any other deal]

The girl who seemed surprised by Mr. Valen's counteroffer raised a brow but did not falter; rather, she nodded her head in acceptance, a sliver of excitement flashing through her eyes.

And then, the mark on Mr. Valen's back disappeared.

The woman then rose from the grimy floor and offered the naked Mr. Valen a hand.

No one knew it but this was the quiet beginning of something wonderful.

As he gazed at this soft and beautiful woman before him with clothes of silk and a scent of roses, Mr. Valen reached out his hand.

He knew that his touch would corrupt her—but even if just once, he wanted to feel her warmth.