Villain Throne:I Build An Empire On Bones

Darkness swallowed Zairen whole.

He stood behind a woman on a throne of dead flowers, like those offered at graves. Her hair fell like midnight waves, veiling her face in shadows, lips blooming with a ghostly smile that broke his heart.

"Oh, Zairen…" Her voice was soft, like a lover's whisper. "Look… isn't it beautiful?"

Zairen followed her gaze. A field of flowers stretched under a silver sky—calm, unreal, hiding a cruel lie.

"Yeah," he whispered. "It's beautiful."

Then she turned fully.

"You know, Zairen…" Her voice cut like a frozen blade, air turning sour with decay. "You failed me."

Zairen blinked. "What?"

"You failed me."

Her words grew louder, venom dripping.

"You failed me."

Again.

"YOU FAILED ME."

"YOU FAILED ME—"

The words roared, crashing like thunder, shaking his bones. Zairen reached for her shoulder—

She spun, her face a nightmare: skin peeling like burnt paper, crimson flooding, maggots gnawing her bones. Her beauty, once a radiant star, now a rotting corpse. The other half smiled, sickly sweet, eyes black as death.

"You failed me," she hissed, blood pouring from her eyes, staining her lips.

Her scream from that night, when her blood spilled, tore through my skull. My heart pounded, nails tearing skin.

She laughed—sick, twisted, a scream from Hell.

"AHAHAHAHA!"

Zairen snapped awake. Her scream faded, pain yanking me back.

"Damn it!" he gasped, sweat soaking his torn clothes. Pain burned through him, unstoppable.

Something chewed his arm.

A rat, its teeth sunk deep, eating his flesh.

He roared, grabbing it, smashing it against the wall. Crack. Blood and fur splattered the stone, stench of blood and rot choking the air. Other rats squealed, vanishing into the dark.

"Even rats want to eat me now?" he muttered, laughing bitterly. "Fucking hell…"

He checked his body—legs purple, bent wrong; arms bruised, cut, swollen; bones grating, crimson seeping from wounds.

"Broken. Definitely broken."

He tried to sit. Bones scraped, pain exploding like fire.

"How long have I been here? Day? Night?"

In this pit, time was a ghost.

Only pain lived.

Only hunger.

His stomach growled, a hollow cry.

"No food. No water. No mercy."

He laughed, voice rough. "Hell's kinder than this place."

Footsteps echoed.

Clank. Clank. Clank.

Two soldiers came down the stone stairs, unlocking the gate.

"Stand," one barked. "The Lord wants you."

Zairen didn't move. "I'd love to," he said dryly, "but my legs don't work. Pretty sure I'm dying. So carry me or get lost."

The soldiers glanced at each other. One nodded.

Blood's stench lingered as they grabbed him, each taking an arm, dragging him like a pile of broken bones.

They hauled him to the estate's healing chamber, tossing him onto a bed like trash.

"Argh—easy, bastards!" Zairen yelled.

The healer, an old man with tired eyes, looked up, then at the guards.

"Fix him," one ordered. "Guests are coming. He needs to look alive."

The healer nodded. The guards left.

The old man wrapped Zairen's limbs, fitting wooden braces to his broken bones. A pale girl—his assistant—handed him a glowing blue vial.

Zairen drank it fast, like a starving man. Warmth spread through his veins, easing the pain.

"That's good stuff," he muttered.

The assistant brought a tray—warm bread, soup, a small fruit.

Zairen ate like a wild animal.

The healer raised an eyebrow. "It's peasant food. You act like it's a king's feast."

Zairen grinned, food stuck in his teeth. "After that pit, this is heaven."

The healer chuckled. "Eat slow, or you'll choke."

Zairen pushed himself up, wincing, ready to leave. The assistant stepped forward, blocking him. "Stay down," she said, voice firm.

Zairen shot a look at the healer, who shook his head. "Six hours, at least. Move, and your bones'll break again."

Zairen groaned but sank back. The two left him alone.

He lay there, bandaged, braced, stomach full—for once.

He stared at himself—weak, small, broken. Huhhh what a bad way to start new life fucking hell.

"I need to get stronger," he whispered.

"I need to awaken my mana circle… soon."

His fists clenched, blood under his nails.

"I'll bow my head. Endure. Play the dog…"

He smirked, eyes burning like Hell's fire.

"…until I become the wolf."

Sleep stayed away.

Not after that dream.

Not after her.

Her voice echoed: You failed me. You failed me.

"What was that dream?" he muttered. "Truth? Curse? Am I haunted?"

His eyes fell on a thick book by the bed.

The Beginning.

"History?" he groaned. "Boring."

Nothing else was there—just romance novels and medical scrolls.

"Guess I'm stuck with this…"

He opened the first page.

Long, long ago… there was only darkness in the world.

Something stirred inside him.

A story of death.

Ruin.

Rebirth.

He turned the page.