Villain's Odyssey: Enslaving heroines, Conquering Villainesses

"Why didn't they just sentence him to death?! He killed Sarah, he killed so many people, yet was left to walk out free?!" Voices intermingled into one cacophonous whisper as a young man walked through the hallway, his head hung low—not in sorrow, but in acceptance. His hands dangled loosely at his sides like broken marionette strings.

Silver neck-length hair shielded his eyes from the menacing glares that followed his every step. He was dressed in a sleek white long-sleeved shirt with a pocket at the top right, black slightly baggy jeans, and black shoes that clicked softly against the marble floor. He was leaving the Academy for the final time.

He had lost everything, and frankly, he was starting to think "everything" hadn't been worth much to begin with.

"I sense nepotism," someone whispered.

"Shouldn't be possible," another countered. "I just heard from my father that he's been disowned by the Nevanas."

"That's expected," a third voice chimed in, practically dripping with satisfaction. "He literally dragged their name through the mud. Quite surprising it took this long for them to cut ties, honestly."

"But that doesn't mean they had no hand in his freedom," someone else interjected, clearly enjoying this gossip session far too much. "They might have disowned him, but that doesn't mean they'd let someone who once bore their name die a pitiful death."

"Most likely, but there's still no evidence he actually—"

"Just shut up!" The interruption was sharp. "If you want to get in trouble, I dare you to complete that statement."

To this, the other speaker fell silent, probably realizing they'd been about to cross a line that could land them in the dean's office.

"He's the only suspect," said someone who was now getting even more disgusted with the young man who seemed unaffected by the murmurs swirling around him. "He tried to kill a fellow student, for crying out loud!"

If anything, Azalea couldn't even hear them anymore. Slowly but surely, he was losing touch with reality, drifting into a blessed numbness that made everything feel like background noise.

"That's enough to expel him but not prosecute him," one voice spat with obvious frustration. "They need more evidence for that. Bastard's fucking lucky."

Suddenly, Azalea stopped.

His gaze fell on a pair of shoes directly in front of him. His eyes trailed upward, and the faces he met made him take an involuntary step back. Well, wasn't this just perfect timing.

"Ansley," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper as he looked at the last person he'd want to see at such a moment.

"Fucking traitor," Ansley declared.

"I knew you were just one pile of garbage, but I never knew you were this much of a monster. You killed a hundred students! You fucking killed your own kind!" another said in disgust.

The person spitting out those words was none other than Aden, the third prince, stepbrother to Isabelle, and a bastard Azalea had been at odds with since childhood. Some things never changed, apparently.

"I... didn't kill anyone," Azalea muttered, then looked Aden directly in the eyes with what remained of his defiance. "Auston is still alive."

"Well, that much is true," Ethan interjected—the son of Duke Vincent, a high-ranked noble who clearly felt entitled to pass judgment. "But it doesn't change the fact that you were the one who compromised the system. You caused those deaths. It's all your fault that Angelica is fighting for her life."

To this, Azalea spared his mouth the stress of responding. They were never going to believe him anyway. Perhaps this was why Isabelle now hated him. Angelica, her twin sister—well, fuck her. He didn't give a damn what she was feeling, because at this moment, he felt nothing.

Nothing at all.

That gripping feeling in his chest? Gone. Vanished like morning mist.

No, he didn't care anymore. In fact, if any of them stood before him now, he would walk past them like strangers. After all, this wasn't the first time he'd felt betrayal.

Not only in this life, but in the previous one too.

A person he'd come to trust more than himself had...

"I'm ashamed we once shared the same name," Ansley continued. "To think people would once address you as my brother."

Azalea's eyes shot back up to meet his stepbrother's gaze—one of the people who, just like Ashley, had made his childhood a living hell. People he would have gladly inflicted with the worst pain imaginable if given the chance.

He looked at Ansley straight in the eyes, surprised to find he felt only one emotion now: hate. Pure, unfiltered hate. Nothing else remained.

But he sighed, turned, and began to walk past them. At least, he tried to.

"And where do you think you're going?" a voice demanded as a hand gripped his wrist with unnecessary force.

"Let go, Aden," he spoke with an eerie calmness. He was weak, couldn't defend himself if any of them decided to beat the crap out of him. But now? He didn't care about that either.

"Not gonna happen, Az," Aden's voice was dangerously low. "Not until I put you in the same condition as my Carmella."

"So that's what this is about, Simp," Azalea said.

The next instant—BAM!

He was slammed against the wall. He looked straight at the young man pinning him there, not an ounce of amusement on his face. Aden seemed truly enraged, which was almost funny considering how pathetic he looked when angry.

"Let go," Azalea muttered.

"You bastard!" Aden screamed, spittle flying. "She called you her friend! She always defended your pathetic ass! And this is what you do to her?!"

A punch powered with ether followed, so powerful the wall cracked behind Azalea's head.

"Argh," he grunted, blood dripping from the back of his head as dizziness washed over him like a tide.

Carmella... he thought distantly.

Yeah, she was probably the only person who hadn't practically tried to beat him to death. But that was likely only because she was hospitalized and couldn't physically reach him.

Well, if Isabelle could go as far as to not only slap him in front of everyone but actually try to hack him to death before being restrained, then Carmella would probably be no different once she recovered.

Andrew. Leon. Castor. His "bros," as they'd always addressed each other. Even they didn't seem as friendly anymore. Funny how quickly loyalty evaporated when things got messy.

"Let go," he muttered again, though his voice was getting weaker.

"Or what?" Aden asked, his fist pulled back. "Or what, you fucker?!"

He punched him again, this time straight in the face. Azalea lost consciousness for a second before regaining something close to clarity, but at this point, he could barely see through the blood and swelling.

"Beat him up," was all he heard last, the words echoing strangely in his ringing ears. "I want him crippled."

Then he was plunged into a world of pain, and honestly? It almost felt like a relief compared to everything else.