Villain Throne:I Build An Empire On Bones

The group stumbled out of the forest onto the open plain, their breaths ragged, hearts pounding with fragile hope. Villagers clung to each other, weeping, their cries a mix of relief and exhaustion. Children laughed weakly, their small faces brightening, believing the forest's terror was over. The plain stretched wide under a rising sun, its golden rays promising safety.

But Zairen stood apart, his red eyes narrowed, fixed on the dense jungle. Its shadows loomed like a living beast, swallowing the dawn's light. A chill crawled up his spine, his instincts screaming. Someone's watching. His hand rested on his sword's hilt, fingers twitching, ready to draw. "Move forward," he ordered, voice cold and sharp. "We're not safe yet."

The villagers' faces fell, their pleading eyes begging for rest. "Just a moment, Lord Kaelridge," a soldier said, his voice heavy with fatigue. "The people are tired. Why not rest here, then go?"

Before Zairen could respond, Helran stepped forward, his scarred face grim. "No. We can't stop. The danger hasn't passed. If we move now, we'll reach Viscount Draven's fief sooner. Lingering here is death."

The soldier hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. He turned to the villagers, urging them with weary words. Grumbling, they gathered their strength and trudged onward.

Zairen glanced back one last time. The sun blazed high, yet the jungle remained a black void, its darkness pulsing with menace, as if a thousand unseen eyes tracked their steps. The feeling clung to him—something was stalking them. He pressed forward, sword ready.

Morning dragged on, the group slogging across the plain. Jagged rocks bit into bare feet, and the sun scorched their backs. Villagers stumbled, lips cracked and dry. Children whimpered, dragging their feet, their courage crumbling. Zairen turned, scanning the group. They were breaking—exhausted, hopeless. "We stop here," he ordered, voice sharp. "Rest for an hour. No more."

The villagers collapsed gratefully, some weeping with relief. Mothers gave their last sips of water to parched children, their own throats dry. Soldiers shared scraps of bread with strangers, their faces etched with sacrifice. Zairen watched, his cold exterior cracking. The sight stirred a memory—a time when he helped others, when laughter filled the air. His sister Elyra, his friends Liora and Aria, and… her. A girl with eyes like deep lakes, pulling him in. Her laughter sent butterflies through his chest, her face softer than milk. She'd stammer, "Zairen… Zairen…" when she caught him staring.

"Master Zairen!" Helran's rough voice snapped him back, breaking the reverie. "What's wrong? Something happened?"

Zairen blinked, the memory fading like smoke. "Nothing," he said coldly. Helran leaned closer, tone sharp. "We'll reach Viscount Draven's fief by dawn if we push hard." He gestured toward the villagers. "But ditch them, and we're there by midnight."

Zairen's gaze hardened. "No. We don't abandon them. If we don't protect them, who will? It's a noble's duty to shield the weak."

Helran's lips twisted, his tongue clicking in disdain. "Your noble ideals sound pretty, Master Zairen, but they'll get you killed. These people? They'll toss you to the beasts the first chance they get. No one's loyal. Everyone's selfish."

Zairen's eyes narrowed, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You're not wrong, Helran." His voice dropped to a whisper. "But I'll play this game my way."

Helran snorted, muttering, "Naïve fool. One day, I'll carve that soft heart out of you." He stalked off, leaving Zairen alone, still smiling faintly. You're right about one thing, Zairen thought. Trust is a luxury I can't afford.

Hours passed. The group rested, some chatting softly, others eating scraps of stale bread and dried meat scavenged from the shore. The air was thick with sweat and fear, but a fragile hope flickered. Suddenly, a child's wail shattered the calm. "My papa! He's not back! Where is he?" The boy sobbed, clutching a villager's arm. The man tried to hush him, but the cries grew louder. "He's been gone too long!"

A woman's voice joined, frantic. "My husband's missing too!" A young man shouted, "My brother went with them!" Panic swept through the group like a plague. Zairen and a village soldier rushed forward. "What happened?" Zairen demanded.

An old man, trembling, explained, "Some went into the woods to relieve themselves. They haven't come back. What if something got them?"

Zairen's eyes scanned the trees, voice sharp. "How many are missing?"

"Five… maybe six," the old man stammered.

"I've got a bad feeling," Zairen said, his voice low. Herlan's nodded grimly. "We have to move."

"We move. Now," Zairen ordered.

"My husband!" the woman sobbed, clutching her shawl, eyes pleading. The villagers begged to stay, unwilling to abandon their loved ones.

Zairen stepped forward, voice cutting through their cries. "Don't be afraid. Once we reach the fief, the Viscount will send a search party. We'll find them. But stay here, and we all die. Move, or the beasts will find us."

Some nodded, tears streaming, but others remained reluctant, feet rooted. Zairen's gaze hardened. "Move. Now."

Driven by fear, the group stumbled to their feet.

They didn't get far.

A howl tore through the air—not a wolf's cry, but a scream laced with crackling thunder. The ground trembled, the air buzzing with electric dread. Zairen's heart raced, hand gripping his sword. It's coming.

From the shadows stepped a Thunderclaw Ravager, a Class-E-monster the size of a warhorse. Its fur shimmered with veins of blue lightning, eyes glowing like molten stars. Foam dripped from jaws that could snap iron, each step scorching the earth with blackened prints.

The group froze, hearts pounding.

"RUN!" Zairen roared.

The Thunderclaw charged, claws tearing up the ground, lightning sparking in its wake.

A child screamed, too slow. The beast's jaws snapped shut with a sickening crunch. The boy's body split—his lower half collapsed, guts spilling like wet ropes across the dirt, while his upper half vanished down the beast's throat.

Chaos erupted.

Villagers scattered, tripping over roots, screams echoing. Soldiers swung swords, but the beast's claws tore through flesh like paper. A man's arm flew, blood spraying like rain. Another's skull caved under a massive paw. Each cry ended in a wet rip or a bone-cracking snap.

Zairen sprinted, a village soldier at his side. He noticed Helran and Merek running ahead, their faces pale but determined. Villagers raced past—some fell behind, their screams silenced as the Thunderclaw fed. It hunted with savage joy, as if slaughter was its sport.

"Help!" the soldier beside Zairen gasped, stumbling.

Zairen grabbed his arm—then shoved him back.

The soldier's eyes widened in betrayal as the beast slammed into him. A chomp. A scream. Silence.

Another village soldier saw it, his face twisting in horror. "You bastard—"

Before he could finish, the Thunderclaw lunged. CHOMP. His head rolled, blood fountaining across the grass.

Zairen didn't look back.

Only a handful of villagers and soldiers remained, the rest devoured or dying. Helran and Merek were still ahead, their figures barely visible. Zairen pressed on, his breaths ragged, body burning.

They hit a dead end—a cliff's edge, dropping into a misty abyss.

The Thunderclaw emerged from the trees, its fur streaked with blood, lightning crackling in its jaws. Its glowing eyes locked on Zairen, each step a promise of death.

"Now what?" a villager whimpered. "We're trapped!"Helran laughed, a hollow, broken sound. "This is it. Our blood's the ink, and death's our scribe."

"No," Zairen said, his voice steady as ice. "We can win."

Merek spun on Zairen, eyes wild with rage. "You're insane! That thing's a Class-E- monster, stronger than a Second-Class Magi! We're barely First-Class—and you haven't even awakened your mana!"

Zairen's lips twitched, a cold smirk forming. "It's got power. We've got brains."

He pointed to the cliff's edge, his mind racing like a storm. "We use the terrain. Spread out along the cliff—make it think we're easy prey. Taunt it, draw it close. When it charges, we scatter in different directions. The ground here is loose—gravel and rocks. It's too heavy to stop itself. Its momentum will drag it over the edge, or it'll slip on the loose stones. Either way, it falls."

The villagers and soldiers stared, hope flickering in their terrified eyes. But a villager suddenly shouted, "Why should we trust you? I saw you! You threw that man to the beast!" All eyes turned to Zairen—soldiers, villagers, even Merek and Helran, staring with suspicion.

Helran stepped forward, pointing at the Thunderclaw. "No time for this. We deal with that monster first, then we settle this."

Zairen met their gazes, unflinching. "Fine. Follow my plan, or die here."

The soldier's jaw tightened. "Crazy… but better than dying like dogs."

The Thunderclaw crept closer, lightning sparking between its teeth. The air hummed with its power, the ground trembling under its weight.

Zairen stepped forward, sword drawn, its blade catching the faint light. His heart pounded, but his face was a mask of calm. "Come on, monster," he muttered, eyes burning red. "Let's see if you can bleed."

The group spread out, forming a shaky line along the cliff. The Thunderclaw snarled, its growl shaking the earth. Its eyes locked on Zairen, sensing his defiance.

Then it charged, lightning trailing like a storm.

Zairen's mind was a blade, sharp and focused. He'd outsmart this beast—or die trying