I CHOSE to be a VILLAIN, not a THIRD-RATE EXTRA!!

THUMP!

THUMP!

THUMP!

Ashok could feel his heartbeat pounding like a war drum in his chest the moment both feet touched the rooftop.

His breath came sharp and fast, the aftershock of adrenaline still flooding his veins.

He had come dangerously close to death, yet not a single trace of fear lingered within him.

Instead, there was exhilaration.

A pure, unfiltered rush.

This was the first time Ashok had truly tested the potential of his Supernatural Power—Gravity after his latest breakthrough.

The sheer speed, the plummet, the moment between flight and fall… it was terrifyingly addictive.

Still standing, he slowly lifted his head to look up at the morning sky, pale blue and streaked with wisps of mist.

Then his gaze dropped, steady and unblinking, to the tiles beneath his feet.

Something had changed.

His perspective—of both the sky above and the earth below—felt different.

After launching himself like a bullet into the open air and free-falling back down without relying on Gravity to slow him until the very last second, something deep inside him had shifted.

The sky, once boundless and infinite, no longer felt unreachable.

It didn't loom over him like it used to.

And the earth, once a source of subconscious fear, especially when viewed from high above, had lost its threat.

That primal fear—that gut-wrenching panic of what would happen to his body if he fell from a great height—was simply gone.

The terror of falling, the instinctive dread of death by gravity... had vanished.

Ashok could still recall it with eerie clarity—the moment he had spread his arms wide while plummeting toward the rooftop, free-falling like a leaf through the air.

That single sensation, the rush of air against his skin and the thunder of his heartbeat in his ears, had surpassed even the thrill of soaring skyward.

It wasn't the ascent that had left a mark on his soul—it was the fall.

That feeling—when the ground rises rapidly to meet you, when every instinct in your body screams that death is inevitable, and your heart races uncontrollably from the sheer terror of impact—that was now etched into his mind.

Not as trauma, but as something deeper, something addictively exhilarating.

"Have I really gone mad after coming close to death twice?" Ashok wondered grimly, the thought slipping through his mind like a whisper in the cold wind.

But then he corrected himself. No—it wasn't just twice.

Including the first time, the very first and truest death, that made it thrice.

His first death… that one had been cruel.

He still remembered the blackouts, the stabbing pain in his chest, the choking helplessness, the way his voice had refused to come out as he lay there, drowning in his own vomit.

The weight in his chest had been unbearable, like an unseen hand squeezing his heart until it finally gave out.

It was not a dramatic death.

It was a lonely one.

A quiet exit from his previous world after all he had no one who would come for him even for the last rites after his death.

Ashok was convinced—without doubt—that it had been the God of Fate who had wrapped that invisible hand around his heart and ended his life.

It was that same divine force, who had torn him from that dying body and hurled him into this world.

It was the God of Fate once again—the architect of his first end—who had almost ushered him into death for the second time.

Ashok clearly remembered that terrifying moment when the God had nearly unleashed His Divine Presence, and worse, had spoken using the Divine Tongue.

Just recalling the sensation made Ashok's skin crawl.

It was a suffocating experience—standing before a being so vast, so incomprehensibly powerful, that his very existence had felt utterly meaningless.

Not even a speck of dust—he had felt like less than that, yet even during that moments he did not forget to mock the god.

Had Morrathis not arrived on time like his plan—summoned only a moment earlier—Ashok was certain that the God of Fate would have turned his life into a living hell, stripping him of his existence by merging with Adlet.

Then came the third near-death—the moment when even the chains of the world had broken, failing to contain the Gates of the Abyss.

Ashok remembered the overwhelming darkness seeping into him, not like shadow, but like a formless, ancient mist that ignored all rules of matter and light.

He could still feel it—creeping into his lungs, burrowing into his skin, whispering of eternal stillness.

And amidst that, Adlet's soul had returned to claim his body, dragging him inside.

Ashok still remembered the sensation of those twin, curved blades plunging into his body, piercing through flesh and spirit alike as if trying to claim what belonged to the void.

The Abyss.

Even now, the name alone made his breath falter.

He didn't know what would have happened had he been fully consumed—because even in the game, the Abyss had never been fully explored.

It only appeared during Morrathis's final phase, when she tore open the fabric of reality to summon the grotesque, nightmare-born entities—monstrosities that descended from the sky in swarms, with one purpose: to devour the world.

As Ashok dwelled on the grim memories of his brushes with death, his thoughts drifted to what lay ahead—and a crooked smile slowly tugged at the corners of his lips.

'I must truly be insane,' he mused inwardly, 'to be plotting the release of an existence so catastrophic that its freedom alone could tear Heaven asunder and with will alone can reduce the world to ash, just so I can witness her dreadful beauty with my own eyes.'

Even as he thought it, he felt no guilt, no hesitation.

Only the quiet acknowledgment of a path so drenched in madness that even Cultists might recoil.

Ashok knew—if the world were to ever learn of his true intentions, of the goals he harbored within the depths of his heart, would they not name him a threat greater than the Hell Bringers, the Cultists, or the Witches drowned in blood and curses?

"Perhaps surviving death really does twist the mind," he thought, almost amused by his own descent.

Yet there was no regret.

No shame. Only a strange pride.

After all, not many could say they'd stared into death's eyes—and come back not humbled, but bolder.

As for the future of the world?

Who the hell cared?

Wasn't it the same world where the Southern Duke, a richest noble the Empire, had knowingly married a Witch?

A woman marked as a walking calamity, her very existence a threat to the continent.

And yet, for the sake of that one love, he had brought death upon two Ascended beings—killed them without remorse, just so she could continue breathing beside him.

'If a man can slay Ascended beings just to protect the woman he loves,' Ashok thought with a cold smirk, 'then someone like me—who dares to aim for a Goddess—should settle for nothing less than World Destruction.'

And as for pity or kindness?

"To hell with Pity. Kill Kindness."

His inner voice echoed with venomous resolve.

There was no room for soft sentiments in a world that had never once extended a hand to save him.

No one came when I was dying alone.

No one pulled me out when my existence was on the verge of being forcibly merged with Adlet's soul.

When I was murdered by fate itself and thrown into this cursed world—not to thrive, but to become a meat shield for the so-called 'talented.'

Not to rise, but to be crushed beneath someone else's story.

If the world had offered him only cruelty and betrayal, then Ashok would return it in his own way.

Tit for tat. Eye for an eye. And I will make sure the world goes blind.

And in the path ahead, Ashok had no doubts—his Supernatural Power would be serving as major keystone to it all.

In the game, not a single playable character ever wielded a Supernatural Power.

Those cursed—or blessed—with it were always marked as villains, unstable figures fated to die before their time or disappear without glory.

Now he had something no protagonist ever possessed.

And just yesterday—he had achieved a breakthrough.

Ashok wasn't sure if "jump" was the right word to describe what he had just done—or perhaps "boost" might have been a better fit—but in his personal dictionary, the term that made the most sense was "Force."

It was a simple word, but it encapsulated the essence of what he had discovered.

This wasn't just theory anymore.

It had started as a suspicion, born when he was flipping and vaulting around the impact absorption room like a maniac.

But now, after trying it under open skies, he had confirmed it with certainty.

"Any kind of additional force I apply to my body right before activating my ability directly influences how the ability behaves."

That was the breakthrough—summed up in one line.

He still had a few doubts to iron out, but the principle was clear.

His most vivid example?

The way his body had launched skyward like a missile when he jumped before activating Negative. 1x, instead of floating up slowly like a tethered balloon.

It was all about Force.

That's why he had chosen the word.

Under normal circumstances, if Ashok simply activated Negative. 1x while standing still, his body would rise at a slow, steady pace, barely allowing movement beyond flailing his limbs like a swimmer.

But the moment he combined that ability with a deliberate jump—he wasn't just floating anymore.

He was soaring.

He could twist his body midair, pull off full 360-degree rotations, and even alter his descent slightly depending on the strength and direction of the Force applied at the start.