News of his death spread like wildfire, and the world reacted almost instantly—relieved, jubilant, unburdened.
This was the man nearly everyone had labeled the Evilest Ruthless Villain, notorious for senseless killings, heartless brutality, and a cruelty that reached even the families of those who resisted him.
But ask yourself this—if murder marks a villain, then what of those "champions" who crush countless lives in pursuit of glory?
The world cheers for them, blind to the bodies beneath their boots.
In the heart of a shattered forest, a man lay sprawled among the ruins, his body a canvas of
gushing wounds and torn flesh. A spear was buried deep in his chest, its cold shaft rising like a
monument marking the final moments of his life.
His right hand was missing from the elbow, and the flesh hung loosely where the arm should have been.
Despite the brutality carved into his body, his face remained eerily calm-no rage twisting his
features, no fear clawing at his expression, no despair tightening his jaw. Only regret lingered in
his dimming eyes, heavy and unrelenting. But it was not regret for his sins, nor the countless lives he had broken.
It was the bitter realization that he would die with an oath unfulfilled-an oath that had defined his
existence more than the blood he spilled.
A short distance away stood a white-haired man, untouched by the devastation around him, as though the battle had never dared to stain him. At his side, three women and one blonde haired man watched silently, their breaths ragged but steady-bearing only the faintest signs of fatigue had brought the dying man to his knees.
The white-haired man broke the silence as he is looking straight in the eyes of dying man.
"Now you will come to know suffering, and understand what dying truly feels like," he said, then continued,
"You will regret every evil deed you have committed throughout your life — until this very moment."
"Because of you, our whole family was destroyed. I hate you," said one of the three women, she had long black hair, and her eyes were a striking red — glowing with the same rage that burned inside her — the same color as the dying man's.
The moment her hateful words reached his ears, the dying man's laughter became wild and fractured, shaking the air as his trembling body released a suffocating, almost monstrous killing intent.
Witnessing the scene, the three women recoiled, fear driving them a step backward.
The laughter quickly broke into violent coughs, blood spilling from his mouth.
"Because of his promise, you survived bitch," he rasped, fury burning in his fading eyes as he continued.
"If not for him, you'd have been dead a long time ago."
"That idiot died because of you, Is there truly no regret in you, even as you take your final breath?" the black-haired woman said again.
"Emilia… let's leave. There's nothing more to gain from his cruelty," the man whispered, holding her close.
"We should go. His death alone is worth celebrating," the blonde-haired girl said and continued.
"David, tell the World Organization to prepare a media conference, and announce that Evan has killed Antonio Crimson."
"Yes, of course, Olivia," replied the blonde-haired man standing beside her, looking toward Antonio, his eyes full of mockery and malice.
*And inwardly he snarled, Because of you, you fucking bastard, I lost some of my most powerful people. *
"And make sure the media hears every detail about your grandfather, Cedric Moore—how I took him out and left him without an arm and a limb. The world deserves the truth, not the pathetic fiction you fed them like the hypocrite you've always been," Antonio said, a slow, mocking smile spreading across his face.
"You fucking bastard!" Olivia snarled, her eyes burning with hatred and rage.
"Olivia, just calm down… he got what he deserved," said the blue-haired girl softly, resting a reassuring hand on Olivia's shoulder.
"Ava's right, Olivia. We've done enough. It's time to go—he's already a dead man," Evan said calmly, and together they walked away, leaving Antonio where he lay.
As they left him lying there, Antonio's eyes slipped shut, quieting the chaos in his mind. His body trembled with torment, but his resolve stayed untouched—calm as still waters, cold as the oldest ice buried in darkness.
As they emerged from the forest, David spoke without turning back.
"You all go ahead. I'll check on my team and catch up."
Evan hesitated, then nodded. "Alright."
They left without looking back.
The moment their footsteps faded, David stopped. Rage twisted his face—raw, unmasked. He turned and walked back into the forest, shadows swallowing him as killing intent wrapped tightly around his heart.
His lips curved into a cruel smile, not born of confidence, but of long-festering hatred.
Antonio's death wasn't just necessary.
It was satisfying.
This man had ruined everything—his plans, his future, his peace. A living reminder that David's control had never been absolute.
"I should thank you," David said softly as he stepped closer.
Antonio's eyes flickered, still sharp beneath blood-matted hair.
"You destroyed everything I built," David continued, voice trembling with restrained delight. "Even when I won, your existence alone threatened my life."
He looked down at him like a corpse already cooling.
"And now," he whispered, "I get to enjoy watching you die."
The forest held its breath.
Antonio didn't beg. Didn't rage. He smiled. Slow. Deliberate. Humiliating.
"So," David sneered, "how does it feel—waiting for your death?"
Antonio lifted his head. Blood spilled from his lips, yet his voice was calm, cold.
"You call this defeat?" he murmured. "Pathetic. You came back burning with rage… only to kneel before what you think is my end."
His smile sharpened.
"You've already lost, David. You just don't know it yet."
David stepped closer, fists shaking. "You still dare mock me?"
"This isn't arrogance," Antonio replied quietly. "It's reality."
He met David's gaze.
"Your rage feeds me. Your hatred empowers me. And you're too blind to see it."
"I'll kill you!" David roared. "I'll tear this forest apart!"
"Tear it apart," Antonio said calmly. "It won't change anything."
Silence pressed down.
"That's the difference between us," Antonio continued. "You fight with fire. I fight with inevitability."
The battlefield lay broken—scorched earth, shattered trees, blood soaked into the soil. To David, it was victory.
Then Antonio smiled again.
"Your people at headquarters," Antonio said softly. "They must be celebrating."
David frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"They think the threat is gone." Antonio's gaze locked onto him. "It's easier to celebrate when you believe you're safe."
A pause.
"One of my people," he added, "prepared a contingency."
David's breath caught. "You're bluffing."
Antonio chuckled weakly. "Am I?"
He lifted his blood-stained wrist, glancing at nothing.
"You have five minutes to save them."
David's rage collapsed. Fear took its place. He understood then—Antonio had nothing left to lose. A man like that didn't bluff.
"That's why you feel it," Antonio whispered. "Because this ends with me."
David staggered back.
"You fucking bastard!" he roared.
He turned and ran. No orders. No pride. No composure—everything abandoned as he sprinted through the forest, branches tearing at his coat, breath ragged and uneven.
Five minutes… five minutes…
Thoughts spiraled—portals, communication runes, anything to reach headquarters in time. Mana flared wildly, uncontrolled, desperate. This wasn't strategy anymore. This was panic.
Behind him, deep in the forest, Antonio remained where he was, blood staining his lips, watching the direction David fled.
"Run," he whispered to the empty forest. "That's all you can do now."
The forest fell silent. Antonio's breathing slowed. His heartbeat softened. A faint smirk lingered.
"It won't change the ending."
"At last… eternal silence," he whispered, each breath shallow, ragged, faltering, as if the very air rejected him. His eyes remained shut, lids pale and trembling, veins faintly tracing beneath the skin. His chest heaved in slow, desperate gasps, each one weaker than the last, time stretching with agonizing slowness. A faint, quiet smirk curved his lips, almost serene, as he let himself fall.
The abyss waited, patient and merciless, and for a heartbeat he felt its cold embrace brush against his soul. Darkness coiled around him, silent and absolute, swallowing every last fragment of warmth, of life, of thought. His senses dulled, breath faded, and the world—the forest, the light, even the sound of his own heartbeat—slipped away.
And in that final, suspended moment, he was nothing but a shadow surrendering to infinity.
But suddenly, he heard a voice: "Do you want to go back in time?"
"Have I lost my mind?" he muttered with a small, disbelieving laugh. Then, with clear sarcasm, he added, "Sure… I do."
[ Dark Lord Devouring System ]
>>[System Initializing 10%.....50%.....80%]
>>[ Installing selected powers… ]
[ The Gods of the Sanctuary bestow their grace. May your luck hold. ]