Awakening: Starting With The Villain System

The immediate threat was outside, not the broken thing bleeding out at his feet.

He turned his back on me completely, a gesture more dismissive and insulting than any glare.

But before he could walk away, the woman spoke again, her voice hesitant.

"Sir, what about him?"

He didn't even bother to look back. His voice was flat, cold, and utterly final.

"He isn't going to make it. Don't worry about him."

And with that, he strode away, the woman quickly following in his wake, leaving me alone in the dust and the silence that was somehow louder than the fight outside.

The moment they were gone, the full weight of my injuries came crashing down.

"Grr!" I groaned, the sound tearing from my throat as I clutched my chest.

It felt like my ribs were a collection of shattered pottery shifting under my skin.

The impact was still echoing through my body, a deep, resonant thrum of pure agony.

Strong. That guy was insanely powerful.

The thought was a detached, clinical observation, my mind trying to process the sheer scale of the force he'd wielded so casually.

I could've died. Right then and there. One punch. That's all it had taken.

But luckily he left me. He didn't finish the kill.

A weak, bloody chuckle escaped my lips.

He said I was going to die anyways. His certainty, his utter dismissal, it stung more than the broken bones.

"Stupid," I muttered in the empty room.

I planted my good hand on the ground, my whole body trembling violently from the effort.

The simple act of trying to push myself up felt like trying to lift the entire collapsed ceiling off my back.

Every muscle screamed in protest. Every shattered piece of bone ground together.

Damn, this was hard. Hard and painful. My vision swam, the world tilting on its axis.

[Why don't you just give up]

I froze.

Give up?

[You are going to die. There is no way to escape this death. Right now you are basically just a dead man walking. Your internal injuries are catastrophic. Your probability of survival has plummeted down. Continuing to move will only hasten the end.]

I just paused, reading the system's words. They were cold, hard facts. But...

Give up? Die?

Stupid. All stupid.

A bitter, bloody grin formed on my lips.

I am not dying. Not now. No. I am not.

[Why are you so stubborn. This is illogical. Accepting the inevitable is the most efficient course of action.]

I didn't reply the system. Instead I focused everything I had, every last shred of strength and will, into my arms.

I pushed. Sweat, cold and clammy, joined the blood flowing on my body. My arms shook, threatening to buckle.

This was hard. Painful.

A sob of pure exhaustion and pain hitched in my throat.

I can't do this anymore.

The thought was smooth, offering peace, offering an end to the agony. To just… stop.

No. I can. I am not giving up.

[Why?]

Why? Why push through this? Why fight when every signal from my body was a screaming siren of failure?

I knew the reason, but it sounded quite stupid, even to me.

It's because I am the greatest villain, aren't I?

[You aren't.]

You are wrong. I am.

But what did that even mean? To most, it meant power. Unimaginable, world-ending power.

To be the greatest villain doesn't mean you should be the strongest.

I'd heard of those kinds. Villains who shook the earth with their steps, who could level cities with a glance.

And where were they now?

So no. All those who claim to be the greatest villain all fall victims to the power of friendship and all others.

They get arrogant. They monologue. They leave a single, tiny weakness exposed because they crave an audience for their brilliance.

They are just mere villains. Puppets playing a part in a story that always ends the same way.

But what about the one who never falls a victim to heroes?

The one who always wins, not because of sheer force, but because they refuse to stay down?

The one who always rises up even if they fail, who treats failure not as an ending, but as a lesson?

That's something else entirely. That's the definition of greatest villain.

The system didn't say anything, so I continued anyways.

Let's make this deal, system. A wager. If I live, if I stand up from this floor you've written my obituary on, you would stop calling me the villain who is walking the path to become the greatest villain.

That tentative, hopeful title for a work-in-progress.

You would address me as... the greatest villain.

Present tense. A fact.

But if I die… well, if I die, you wouldn't call me any of those names. The title would die with me.

So just call me a chicken, a coward, whatever name you wish. Call me a fool. It wouldn't matter.

[I can't call a dead man names.]

That's right, you can't, and you won't. Because I won't die.

This wasn't hope. It was certainty. A villain plans for contingencies. A villain adapts.

A mere villain seeks to conquer others. I wish to separate myself from regular villains.

I would become a villain that won't lose, a force of nature that could be thwarted but never truly stopped.

And if I perhaps lose? If I am beaten, broken, and left for dead in the rubble of my own ambition?

I would only come back stronger. I would learn. I would evolve. I would not give up. Because I am not done yet.

The world hadn't seen what a true villain could be. Not a monster, but an indomitable will. A constant. An inevitability.

The deal was struck in my mind. The terms were set.

With a grunt that started deep in my soul, I gathered the splinters of my strength. I focused not on the pain, but on the promise.

With one final push, a surge of pure, undiluted defiance, I raised myself up.