The Villain's Story

Shining with a bright light that broke through the curtain of rain, the darkness that surrounded this world and the dreadful sea, the Lighthouse showed itself for the first time.

It was blinding, leading Alan to reinforce his eyes with mana to fully capture it. A monolith of black stone with a peak of glorious light. Even from this distance, he could see and feel the runes carved upon it’s surface, but of course.

That wasn’t what caught his eye. The true goal lay right in front of him.

Lightning flashed behind the lighthouse, and in the blue-blaze of it, the figure of the dragon coiled around the monolith in vast, slow loops became apparent. He was right in front of him, but Alan’s mind was refusing to accept it.

His mind refused to accept the scale of him, even though he had seen a dragon much, much bigger. His mind refused to accept the figure of him, even though he had glimpsed upon it before.

His hearts, winter, flesh, and crystal began to beat in tandem, His dragon heart… was weeping. He didn’t know why, and perhaps that made his worries grow far beyond control.

The body compressed against the black stone with drowsy, terrible possessiveness, the monolith refused to bow to him, however, staying strong even though it was constricted with enough force to compact a dozen worlds.

The dragon was black in the way deep water was black, it wasn’t like the absence of light, rather, it was as if something had consumed it. Rain slid of the scales without catching, without so much as a gleam. Not even on the countless scars that ran rampant through his body. The storm itself was afraid.

The head rested at the lantern’s level, draped over the railing like a king settling his chin into his hand. A few scales of white rested at his crown, almost like priceless jewel. His horns weren’t like those of a regular dragon, they didn’t form a crown, rather, they formed spears meant to impale his foes.

One of them, was broken at the tip. Alan knew who had broken it, and because of that, the broken horn didn’t fill him with courage, as a sign of weakness, rather, it drowned him even further in fear.

He was looking at the sea, no, his eyes were focused on the small speck of white in his eternally dark domain. A set of purple eyes that could see through everything, a set of purple eyes that the universe itself bowed down too, presenting every truth that existed.

No mystery existed in the eyes of Valus, The Supreme Dragon of Darkness, the only dragon he had seen fatally wound Aranus, the dragon that was the Head of the House of Death, The Gatekeeper, and the one who could finally give him an answer.

But despite knowing that, he didn’t… he couldn’t move forward. His wings were motionless, the force of mana was all that carried him in the midst of this dreadful storm. Unlike the supreme ruler, the storm didn’t care for someone like him.

It constantly tried to pull Alan down, towards the Black Sea, but this time, it was futile. The efforts of the dreadful abyss were thwarted by sheer force of will as Alan went forward, taking deep breaths to calm himself down.

His wings finally moved, propelling Alan towards the Lighthouse, all the while Valus continued to look at him, he didn’t bother raising his head.

The winds tried to push Alan back, but he persevered. He went closer and closer to the small island, that which held the Lighthouse. Hell, he didn’t even know if it was an Island or not.

The lighthouse may be emerging from the sea, and the small bit of land he saw maybe Valus’s tail. In this darkness, in this hostile environment, he couldn’t figure it out.

Still, he pushed through, shielding his eyes with his arms. The accursed water was something he was afraid of. The storm was unrelenting, fierce, and cursed.

In these dire straits, only one thing pushed him forward. Not his boundless reserves of mana, not his powerful regeneration, his fierce aura, nor was it the strength of his vessel, rather it was a plea.

Please tell me.

Please.

Living an oblivious life, merely following wherever the current took him, stumbling on so many unwanted nightmares and headaches that made him question his existence over and over again.

Please.

It wasn’t the gifts he had that propelled him through the storm, rather the curse of his existence. A curse that plagued before he even knew of it, before he even knew to care.

Just tell me.

It was exhaustion that pushed him forward, He was exhausted from always thinking he was a puppet, he was exhausted from always wondering what he was. He was exhausted.

Physically, Mentally, and Spiritually.

He just wanted to know. He just wanted to know.

The dragon raised it’s head from the railings, the king rose from his throne, looking at the white speck approaching closer with emotions that couldn’t be ascertained easily.

Prejudice? Maliciousness? Hate? Amusement? You couldn’t tell when you looked at a scaly and scarred face. But Alan…? Alan sensed it.

The closer he got, he realized it. He realized what it was, for he always questioned what it would feel like, in reality, not his dreams.

Lanesha was a Supreme Being who was his guardian, a cold but gentle queen that truly wanted to help him. One who recognized him.

Kulak was a Supreme being who was aloof, somewhat serious but someone who was willing to help him, to tell him things he needed to know and point him right in that path.

Neither of them had truly displayed this kind of feeling. In the end, despite what they truly were… to Alan, they never felt that way. They never felt Supreme.

But Valus? Valus exuded something else.

Hostility. Pure hostility. Alan Peccator finally felt it for the first time in his entire life, this sensation he had been searching for.

A true form of supremacy, a Supremacy that did not hide behind any other motive other than pure hostility. True Supremacy, forged through endless conflict, a Supremacy that was gained through one’s own efforts, one that had a clear goal.

True Supremacy.