Chapter One: I Woke Up… And Sadly, I'm Not Dead Yet
I opened my eyes slowly... darkness surrounded me... the only sound I heard was the voice in my head saying:
"You were supposed to die yesterday. What are you still doing here?"
Ironically, that voice is the most comforting one. It never lies—unlike the others in my life... like my mother, who used to say, "You're special, my son."
I got up, sinking into muddy ground, trying to remember my name.
Not because it matters... but because someone carved it on a gravestone.
And it was mine.
Am I dead? Unfortunately, no.
I'm simply the villain who failed to die—despite everyone, including myself, wishing otherwise.
I searched my pockets.
Nothing but a strange stone, a moldy piece of cheese, and a letter that read:
"Do not open the red door—unless you're stupid enough."
I smiled. Of course I'll open it.
Because I'm evil? No... just stupid enough.
I walked through the cursed forest.
The trees whispered, the air laughed, and even the crows looked embarrassed by my appearance.
And me? I wore a torn black cloak, mismatched boots, and carried a rusty sword that couldn't even cut the moldy cheese.
I stopped at a small lake and saw my reflection in the water.
Dear gods... even demons would weep at my face.
But there was something strange... my eyes glowed red.
That hasn't happened since I drank that suspicious elixir at The Last Bone tavern.
A girl in a white cloak approached me, radiating pure energy.
She asked, "Stranger, are you lost?"
I replied with a dry smirk, "I don't get lost. The path loses me."
She looked at me, worried, and reached out her hand.
"You carry a great darkness..."
I raised an eyebrow and said, "And you carry too much self-confidence. Stop before I start giving life-coach advice."
She left, muttering something about "the returned Demon King" and "black destiny."
Honestly? I wasn't paying attention.
I was too busy trying to remember if I was the Demon King.
Maybe… maybe not. Memory isn't exactly my strongest skill.
Then... the voice came.
That old voice...
"You've returned, the one we all abandoned..."
I turned—of course, no one was there.
That's normal. Even voices prefer to leave me alone.
But when I looked up, I saw it.
The cursed sword… floating mid-air, dripping blood.
Just as I reached for it, a demon appeared—wearing a business suit and carrying a briefcase.
He smiled and said, "Welcome to your first test. We're the Department of Evil Resources."
I blinked at the demon in the suit and asked, dead inside,
"Aren't you supposed to come with fire and screams and curses?"
He smiled politely and said, "That was the Middle Ages. We use corporate language now."
Ah… even Hell has gone digital.
He opened his briefcase, pulled out some documents, and said:
"We're reviewing your resume before granting you the Great Evil License. Unfortunately, you failed Advanced Self-Loathing."
I replied, "Buddy, I hate myself more than your mom hates you."
He chuckled and made a note, "Nice. Toxic humor score: B+."
"So, what's the test?"
He answered:
"Kill a chosen hero, burn a peaceful village, and corrupt an angel."
I shrugged, "Easy. But where do I find an angel? They're rare—even on the black market."
He handed me the cursed sword.
"This is Shadia. She was a singer before becoming a curse. If you sing with it, the echo might kill you. Be careful."
I grabbed the sword and heard a woman's voice in my head:
"Miss a single swing, and I'll roast you with a sarcastic tweet every day."
Great. A sword with a built-in Twitter account.
I walked down a path made of bones, thinking:
Why am I trying to be evil?
Because the world rejected me? Because society hates the different?
Or maybe… I just want front-row seats on the day the world ends.
The first village I reached was called "Harmony."
The name alone was enough reason to burn it.
An old man greeted me, "Welcome, traveler. Do you need water or bread?"
I replied, "I need a reason not to set your beard on fire."
But I couldn't do it...
Laughing children, people farming and singing, a cat sleeping on a barrel.
I said, "Damn you all... even villains have feelings sometimes."
So I lit a tiny fire near a haystack. Just so I didn't leave with zero evil points.
That night, I dreamed of a girl with white hair and glowing eyes.
She said, "You are the chosen one to destroy balance."
I replied, "I'm the chosen one because no one else was picked."
I woke up laughing… or crying. From a distance, who can tell?
I reached a massive hill—there, the chosen hero was training.
Golden hair, perfect muscles, and phrases like "Justice always wins!"
God, I hate this type. Like a toothpaste ad.
I walked up to him and said:
"Hey, hero. Mind if I kill you?"
He looked at me and said,
"I won't fight evil… I will free it."
And smiled.
That's when the story flipped.
Time froze.
Did the hero just say he wants to free evil?
Me? Evil?
I was just about to cut off his head and toss it to the crows, and now I have a fan?
I asked, "Are you sure you're the hero? Not in the wrong script?"
He smiled, "Good and evil are relative concepts."
Oh great… a philosopher.
We fought.
He used trained techniques.
I used "do whatever it takes to survive."
Ash in his eyes? Done.
Lied about a dragon behind him? Done.
Kicked his unresolved childhood trauma? Definitely.
As he fell, he said, "This… isn't honorable."
I said, "I'm a villain, not a Disney prince."
I chained him up and began a traditional evil speech,
"I am the shadow that lives in light, the voice of reason in an age of—"
He interrupted, "Dude, long monologues are outdated."
I paused…
Then continued: "And I am also the unpaid electricity bill of the gods!"
Dramatic. Gotta stay dramatic.
A black pigeon delivered a message via smartphone.
Yes, we've advanced.
The message read: "You've been promoted to Beginner Villain. Please activate your monthly subscription to continue."
I replied, "Where's the blood offering activation?"
They answered, "We use crypto now. Welcome to HellCoin."
Fantastic. Even Hell has a stock exchange.
I took the hero with me.
Not to jail him—but to train him.
Yes, I'm the villain who teaches the hero how to be… less heroic.
Taught him how to lie, to doubt, to see the shadows behind light.
After a week, he said: "I feel freer than ever."
I smiled. "Welcome to truth."
I watched the world shift.
Villages silenced, heroes questioned their missions,
And kingdoms searched for answers, not slogans.
And in that moment...
I realized I didn't need to destroy the world—just show it to itself.
One gloomy morning, a little girl approached me.
"You're the villain, right?"
I smiled, "Depends on who's asking."
She said, "Mom says you made Dad cry."
"What did he do?"
"He was a tax collector."
I raised an eyebrow proudly, "Then I did good... accidentally. Ugh, I'm failing at evil!"
I decided to build my own castle.
Not from skulls—but silence.
A place for the lost, the angry, and even the kind who got tired of pretending.
I called it: Sanctuary of the Absurd.
And paid the first installment—666 years, interest-free.
A request came from the southern kingdom:
"We want your help against the Empire of Tyranny."
I laughed.
"I am the tyrant, dear."
They replied: "We know… but at least you're an honest tyrant."
Ah, the irony.
I became the best of the worst—simply because I don't pretend to be good.
And on the final night of this part of my story...
I looked out—