Chapter Two: The Villain's Reflection
7:15 AM
Pain exploded in my head like an iron hammer. I opened my eyes slowly, golden sunlight piercing through thick curtains to dance across my face. I tried to sit up, but a splitting headache forced me back onto the pillow. I raised my hands before my eyes, startled by their smooth, pale skin, meticulously manicured nails, and the gold ring studded with a blue sapphire—not mine.
"What the hell..."
My voice came out deep, booming, completely unfamiliar. I felt a strange movement on my face and reached up to pull a long black strand of hair into view.
I staggered out of bed, my legs trembling under the weight of this foreign body. The cold marble floor beneath my bare feet made me shiver. Everything in this lavish room reeked of wealth and power—from the crystal chandelier to the original oil paintings on the walls.
I approached the large gilded mirror and saw...
A man who resembled a living Greek statue. Golden eyes like a tiger's, carrying an arrogant gaze as if looking down on insects. Raven-black hair cascaded perfectly over his shoulders. A straight nose, thin lips, and a square jaw with a small scar on the left side.
The body was a masterpiece—tight abdominal muscles like wooden planks, a broad chest adorned with a long scar telling the tale of an ancient battle, arms strong enough to strangle a man with ease. But what stunned me most was the strange tattoo on his left wrist—an obscure symbol resembling an eye inside a triangle.
"Victor Dain..."
The name slipped from my lips like a curse. I remembered everything now—this was the body of the main villain in The novel, the sadistic nobleman who practiced torture as a hobby.
Memories flooded in like a tidal wave:
That evening in the dungeon when he made a prisoner eat his own flesh after cutting off his hands.
The party he hosted where guests played "hide and seek" with bound victims, and the jokers shot at anything that moved.
The day he decided to "renovate" his gardens by planting them with the heads of rebels he'd executed.
I smashed my fist into the mirror until it cracked, blood dripping from my wounds. But before my eyes, the wounds began to heal, flesh knitting back together slowly.
I discovered a walk-in closet the size of a bedroom. Every suit was handmade, the leather shoes polished like mirrors. I chose a black suit with gold-thread embroidery and felt a strange sensation as I put it on—as if the body remembered how it enjoyed terrifying others in these clothes.
On the nightstand beside the bed, I noticed a red leather-bound book. When I opened it, I found pages filled with elegant handwriting, precise anatomical drawings, and... spells.
"Damn it..."
I flipped through the pages rapidly, my eyes widening at recipes for powders made from children's bones, incantations for extracting souls, and especially a full page on the "Exchange Ritual," which required six victims and the seventh's blood as ink for the spell.
8:00 AM
A soft knock at the door.
"My lord... the prisoners are waiting in the east hall."
The voice belonged to a young maid no older than fifteen. When I opened the door, she immediately knelt, her forehead touching the floor, her body trembling like a leaf in the wind.
"Stand up," I said, trying to be gentle.
She lifted her head slowly, her large brown eyes brimming with tears. "My lord... please... my mother is sick... don't take me today..."
A strange feeling came over me. I reached out and touched her trembling cheek, and she screamed as if burned by hot coal.
"Go," I whispered. "Take your mother and leave the palace before sunset."
She fled like a frightened rabbit. I didn't understand why I'd done that, but something inside me said this might be the most dangerous thing I'd done in this world.
8:30 AM
The long corridor leading to the east hall was decorated with human skulls. Each skull bore a name and date. The most recent belonged to a man named "Carlos"—the gardener Victor had killed a week ago for accidentally cutting a rare rose.
When I opened the massive doors, I saw them—six prisoners bound in chains, their eyes blindfolded, their bodies torn from torture. On the platform, an array of horrifying surgical tools was neatly arranged.
"Our great lord!"
Victor's men—four gigantic twins—bowed in reverence. One of them presented me with a curved golden knife.
"The first sacrifice is ready."
I looked at the knife, then at the first prisoner—a blond boy who couldn't have been older than eighteen.
At that moment, I realized the seventh dawn would be tomorrow...
And my choice would determine the fate of this world.
[End of Chapter