Villain Throne:I Build An Empire On Bones

I woke not with breath, but its ghost—a gasp trapped in my throat, sharp as a blade's kiss.

Darkness.

Not shadow, not night, but an endless void, crushing thought and time under its weight. No ground caught my feet, no sky met my gaze. Silence pressed my chest, heavy as a grave, choking a scream that never broke free.

I rose, though nothing held me. My steps echoed in my skull, each one a pulse in the abyss. My heart thundered, a lone drum defying the dark. I walked—through nothing, toward nothing, a fire in my gut refusing to die.

The void hissed, a cold breath slithering down my spine, clawing at my will to turn back. I snarled, teeth bared. I'd rather burn than bow.

Time bled away—hours, years, eternities. I didn't count. I just moved.

Then—a voice.

"Tired yet?" it rasped, soft as ash, sharp as a curse, chilling the air like frost on bone.

My soul recoiled. My heart roared, caged in my ribs. I froze, throat tight, skin crawling. "Who's there?" I growled, voice raw, defiance masking dread.

A pause, heavy as death's shadow, the void seeming to shrink under an unseen weight.

"I am the Abyss Angel," it said, voice a low flame searing my bones, each word dripping menace. "Night-carver. Vow-breaker. Watcher where gods cower."

I clenched my fists, rage flaring against the chill creeping up my spine. My voice cut through, low and venomous. "You're no god of the Six, lurking in this pit."

The Angel's laugh cracked the void like shattering bone, a storm of scorn that shook my core. "Those gods?" it sneered, voice coiling tighter, a serpent of malice. "Mortal husks, propped by trembling hands, cowering before my shadow."

My pulse hammered, a beast clawing free. "Is this Hell?" I spat, eyes burning into the dark.

The air tightened, a noose of silence, the void pulsing with dread.

"No," it whispered, voice a blade grazing my soul. "This is the seam of life and death, where regrets chain the damned. The pure pass. You've wandered a thousand years, blind to your sins. Why?"

"Regret?" I roared, voice trembling with rage. "I have none—"

"Liar," it hissed, venom cloaked in silk, its presence a weight crushing my chest.

A force seized me—not hands, but truth, tearing my soul open. Her face surged—black hair, a smile like a lost dawn, eyes that pierced my core. Her laughter, her warmth, the day I let her slip away.

Pain ripped my chest. My hands clawed at my ribs, nails drawing blood, as her voice echoed: "Promise you'll come back…"

I snarled, "Stop it!" My voice shattered, rage swallowing grief, a fire burning hotter than sorrow.

The Angel's tone mocked, sharp as a blade's caress. "You see it now. The vow. The regret."

I glared into the dark, eyes blazing defiance.

It tore like flesh under a knife.

He emerged—tall as despair, horns curling from a skull wreathed in writhing shadow. His eyes burned, not flame but judgment, a fire to devour souls. His cloak pulsed like molten stone, smoke coiling like chains, the air growing thick with the stench of ash and ruin.

Fear clawed my bones, primal, ancient, but I stood, unyielding, teeth gritted.

He smiled, sharp as a guillotine. "Fear is useless," he growled, waving a hand. My dread fled, burned away, leaving only rage.

"How will you burn your regret?" he demanded, voice a thunder of ancient scorn.

I snarled, "I don't know."

His smile stretched, cruel and cold, a predator sizing up its kill. "Then I'll choose for you," he said, voice dripping with ancient scorn. His grin turned wicked, a slash of pure malice. "This isn't a reward," he murmured, each word laced with poison. "It's a curse. And I want to see how you'll escape it."

He leaned close, eyes a furnace of malice, the void trembling under his gaze. Black smoke poured from his fingers, slithering into my chest. My blood screamed, veins searing to ash and ember. My body burned, dissolving into cinders, then snapped back with a ragged gasp.

"Begone," he commanded, voice a death knell.

I vanished.

The Angel stood alone, the void still. Something glinted—a pendant, its feather shining like a fallen star. He knelt, picking it up, turning it in his clawed hand. "Interesting," he murmured, voice low, a flicker of curiosity in his burning eyes.

The void split, a streak of light tearing the dark. He stepped through, pendant in hand, into a place where stars bled.

I woke, lungs clawing air. My back ached, bones grinding on a crooked bed. The air reeked of rot, dust, and decay's cold breath. Wood groaned beneath me, brittle as old bones.

I staggered to a cracked mirror. A boy stared back—twelve years old, black hair, hollow red eyes. My skin was scarred, raw, oozing from wounds that never healed, flesh carved by time's cruel claw.

I touched my face, fingers trembling, her vow a blade in my skull.

I smirked, not with joy, but certainty, sharp as a drawn sword.

"This time," I hissed, voice a vow carved in blood, "I'll finish what I began."

In that rotting room, wrapped in decay's grim embrace—

I was reborn.