I Have 10,000 SSS Rank Villains In My System Space

The spell's name, Reborn, was written in an ink that shimmered faintly, like blood under moonlight. Razeal leaned forward slightly, his eyes scanning each intricate line of text. The script twisted on the page, alive, almost breathing the air around it faintly cold.

"This spell…" Razeal murmured under his breath, narrowing his eyes. "It's based on the soul."

The first few sentences already made his expression turn thoughtful.

It said that upon using the spell, all strength, power, and cultivation one had gained in life would be lost completely everything except their memories and knowledge.

He frowned a little. "So… you start over?" he muttered, turning the page slightly.

But the more he read, the more complicated it became.

The spell wasn't simple not even close. It revolved entirely around the manipulation of the soul. The caster needed to have an extraordinarily strong soul to even attempt it. And to strengthen one's soul, the book described something Razeal found disturbingly predictable by now.

It required consuming other souls.

Not one or two but Millions.

The text stated it as though it were a number as casual as counting grains of sand. The stronger the souls consumed, the fewer needed. Quality over quantity though even the minimum threshold was absurd.

Razeal's expression darkened. "Millions of souls, huh…" he muttered softly, rubbing his chin. "Typical."

Still, he read on, curious.

Once a soul had been strengthened enough, the spell claimed it could defy death itself. When the user died, instead of letting their soul disperse into the afterlife, they could force it to separate from death's grasp and remain physically.. in the mortal realm.

The cost, however, was severe.

They would have to sacrifice 99.99% of their soul, leaving behind only a fragment a spark of consciousness.

It was described as trying to lie to Death itself.

Razeal exhaled slowly through his nose. "Trying to cheat Death… Huh?"

He kept reading.

After the ritual, the remnant soul would have 24 hours before its energy began to decay completely. In that brief window, it had to find a pregnant woman, one already in her final months eight to nine months along.

That was the key requirement.

Once found, the soul could attempt to enter the unborn child.

It wouldn't be a clean transfer. The two souls the unborn one and the invading remnant ..would have to reach equilibrium, coexisting within one fragile body. Over time, the stronger of the two would consume the other, slowly taking control of the body and mind.

Razeal blinked once, then stared silently at the page for a moment.

The book's text went on in gruesome detail the risks, the instability, the pain. It even warned that destroying the child's soul too quickly could damage the connection, leaving both spirits incomplete. The entire process depended not just on power, but on chance and timing.

"Twenty four hours," Razeal whispered. "If you fail, you just… fade away completely."

He sat back a little, processing it all.

At first, the spell sounded powerful a form of resurrection beyond divine logic. But the more he read, the more it sounded like a desperate gamble an act of madness made by someone terrified of dying.

"Millions of souls… ninety-nine percent sacrifice… finding a pregnant woman within a day…" He sighed, shaking his head. "This isn't rebirth. It's a parasitic possession."

His tone was sharp with disinterest now, even disgust.

It wasn't true rebirth. Not the kind he had experienced.

Razeal himself had died once completely. Yet the System had brought him back, whole, not a fragment of soul crawling into a stranger's body.

Compared to that, this spell was nothing but a crude imitation a twisted shortcut carved out of desperation.

Still, the concept intrigued him.

Even flawed, it hinted at something bigger: the possibility of bending the line between death and life.

He rubbed his chin with one hand, eyes still on the page. "Interesting idea," he muttered, voice low, thoughtful. "Even if it's disgusting…"

The candlelight flickering from the nearby table cast shadows over his face, accentuating the focused look in his eyes.

And then

It happened.

The Book of Eventual Evil suddenly shivered in his lap. The air around it warped, as though reacting to his mix of fascination and rejection.

Before Razeal could even process what was happening, the pages began to glow a deep, pulsing black light spreading through the edges like molten ink.

"...Huh?"

He barely had time to flinch.

A beam of dark energy shot straight upward from the open page and slammed into his forehead.

It was instantaneous faster than any spell or strike he'd ever seen.

Razeal's pupils widened as his body froze. For an instant, the world went completely dark his vision swallowed by blackness.

Then came silence.

Everything around him vanished.

When Razeal opened his eyes again, he was somewhere else entirely.

The air was thick, damp, and heavy with the scent of burning candles. The world was dark not the absence of light, but the kind of darkness that pressed against your skin.

He looked around quickly, instinctively alert.

Rows upon rows of women stood across the floor hundreds of them all wearing long black dresses and veils that covered their faces completely. They stood motionless, silent, their heads bowed in eerie synchronization.

The only visible feature beneath their dark garments was the shape of their round, swollen bellies.

All of them were pregnant.

Razeal's heart gave a small weird beat. The sight was… unnerving.

The entire place looked like something torn out of an ancient cult ritual. The flickering light of hundreds of candles cast ghostly shadows that danced across the veiled figures, making the scene feel almost unreal.

And there, in the center.. raised slightly above them sat an old man.

Long white hair, flowing robes, his legs crossed in a meditation posture. His eyes were closed, and his lips moved slowly, whispering something under his breath a chant, rhythmic and strange.

Razeal stared at him for a moment, every muscle in his body tense.

He couldn't sense any immediate hostility, but his instincts screamed caution. His flow sense expanded, sweeping through the air around him, searching for threats.

No reaction. None of them seemed aware of his presence.

He slowly exhaled, easing his posture just slightly, though his guard remained high.

"…System," he said under his breath, voice low and sharp, "where am I?"

[It's a small illusion created by the Book of Eventual Evil, host. Don't worry. Seems like an information sharing technique. And well, you can break it anytime if you wish. The book will understand your will the instant you decide.]

The System's voice echoed calmly in his mind.

Razeal exhaled softly, letting his tensed shoulders relax. "I see…" he murmured. The tension that had been crawling through his muscles faded slightly as the realization settled.

So it was an illusion one projected directly by the book.

He glanced around again, at the hundreds of still, veiled women and the flickering candlelight painting eerie shadows across the dark room. Even knowing it wasn't real, something about it still pressed heavily against his head.

His mind instinctively replayed the moment the beam of black energy had burst out from the book and struck him. The speed, the sensation it hadn't been painful, but it had felt invasive. Like something had reached into his consciousness and pulled him somewhere else entirely.

"I need to learn mental arts," he muttered to himself, his tone more serious than usual. "And how to break illusions."

That thought dug itself deep in his mind. Before, he could have ripped through any illusion easily his mental resistance had once been among his greatest strengths. But now?

He frowned slightly.

After his mental stat dropped from S-rank to B-rank, that resilience had become one of his weaknesses. He couldn't afford that kind of vulnerability again.

"I'll redevelop it," he noted silently to himself, carving the promise into the back of his thoughts.

For now, though, he focused his attention back on the illusion.

The air was thick, heavy with the scent of candle wax and something faintly metallic. Razeal's sharp gaze moved over the scene the veiled, pregnant women standing still like statues, the dim room, and the old man sitting cross legged on the raised platform ahead.

From the arrangement, from the dark atmosphere, Razeal could already guess where this was going.

Still, he watched quietly, folding his arms, his expression unreadable.

Then, without warning, the old man still murmuring softly under his breath reached into his robes and pulled out a dagger.

Razeal's eyes narrowed.

The blade glinted faintly in the candlelight before the old man suddenly, and without hesitation, plunged it into his own forehead right between his eyebrows, the tip burying deep into his skull.

Blood streamed instantly, running down his face and dripping onto the platform beneath him.

Razeal blinked once but didn't flinch.

The man's chanting stopped. His body wavered slightly before collapsing forward with a soft, dull thud.

Silence followed.

The veiled women didn't move, didn't cry out they just stood there, facing the direction of the corpse. The stillness was suffocating.

Razeal tilted his head slightly, eyes calm but sharp, watching everything unfold with cold curiosity.

Then he saw it.

From the dead man's body, something began to emerge a faint, luminous outline.

A soul, pulling itself free from the corpse.

It looked exactly like the old man same posture, same face, just transparent, glowing faintly white. But as it rose, Razeal noticed something strange.

A small, almost invisible fragment broke away from the main soul like a thin thread snapping loose from its end.

It drifted downward, sliding beneath the lifeless body, almost hiding under the folds of his robes.

The fragment was so tiny, so subtle, that even Razeal nearly missed it.

He frowned, his eyes narrowing further.

"What's that…" he murmured, leaning slightly forward.

And then, before he could process what that shard meant, space itself tore open above the body.

A sharp rip sound echoed through the silence like the very air was being shredded.

From that tear, a massive dark hand reached out.

It wasn't human. Its form was rough and jagged, covered in what looked like layers of blackened, thread-like flesh stitched together. The fingers were too long, clawed, dripping with something like ink.

The hand shot down instantly, grabbing the main soul by the neck.

Razeal's pupils contracted.

The old man's soul struggled for barely a second before being yanked upward violently into the dark rift.

The space sealed shut behind it, silent as though nothing had happened.

The candles flickered once. Then, stillness returned.

"…What the hell was that?" Razeal muttered, his tone low and sharp. "System, you got any idea?"

His voice echoed faintly through the illusion, his gaze still fixed on where the space had torn open.

[Ask the system's villains. There are many who know.]

The reply came dryly, almost indifferent.

Razeal clicked his tongue. "Of course," he muttered, rolling his eyes slightly.

Typical System behavior help sometimes, stay silent other times. Maybe it had moods of its own.

Still, this wasn't the moment to argue.

Something else was happening.

The tiny soul fragment that had broken off earlier the one hiding under the body was now beginning to stir.

It drifted upward slowly, glowing faintly, almost invisible.

Razeal followed it carefully with his eyes, expression unreadable but alert.

The fragment moved like smoke, gliding through the air, passing silently over the corpse of the old man before beginning to drift across the room.

And Razeal noticed something that made him pause.

The veiled women didn't react at all.

Their faces or rather, their covered silhouettes remained perfectly still, as though they couldn't see what was happening right before them.

"They can't see it…" he whispered under his breath. "So I'm the only one who can."

That confirmed it.

This illusion.. or whatever projection the book had trapped him in wasn't just showing him a memory. It was showing him the truth behind the ritual.

Razeal's gaze hardened slightly.

The soul fragment floated higher, passing slowly over the women's bowed heads. As it moved, the faint candlelight flickered, reacting subtly to its presence. Each woman's shadow warped for a brief second, as though the soul's energy brushed against them.

Razeal just stood in silence, watching as the faint, drifting soul fragment floated gently through the dim, candlelit air. Its glow was faint, almost fragile like a dying ember refusing to fade.

The room was utterly still. The hundreds of veiled, pregnant women stood motionless, forming a silent circle beneath the old man's corpse. The candles flickered, their flames swaying softly as the soul moved past them, illuminating the folds of black veils for the briefest of moments.

Razeal's gaze followed every subtle movement, his expression calm but sharp, as though unwilling to miss even a single detail.

The fragment hovered before one of the women, lingering uncertainly in front of her. Then, without warning, it drifted forward and slipped into her body through her stumack.

Her posture stiffened slightly, her veiled head twitching ever so faintly and then nothing.

The soul came back out a moment later, trembling, flickering weakly as though rejected.

Razeal's brows furrowed. "Rejected it?" he murmured under his breath. "Or didn't like it?"

Whatever the reason, the fragment floated away again, gliding toward another woman.

It entered her the same way through the stumack too, a faint pulse rippling across her black robe and again, a few seconds later, it came out.

Rejected?

It tried again, with another. Then another.

Each time, the same result until, finally, after the fourth or fifth attempt, the soul seemed to hesitate.

It hovered for a long moment, then darted forward this time sinking directly into one woman's stomach, disappearing through her skin.

The glow vanished.

And this time… it stayed.

Razeal's eyes narrowed, his hand resting thoughtfully against his chin. "Is that it?" he wondered quietly, his tone more curious than anything else.

A full minute passed. The soul fragment didn't come back out.

Nothing moved. The room returned to that eerie, candlelit stillness.

Razeal tilted his head slightly. "So this is how the spell works, huh…"

But just as he thought it was over just when he assumed the scene had ended something shifted.

The woman whose body the soul had entered suddenly tensed. Her posture straightened, rigid, unnatural.

Then she looked down.. her hands slowly rising to her belly.

Razeal's eyes followed, his expression subtly changing.

The woman's hands trembled as her fingers pressed against her abdomen, feeling the surface through her robes. Then, with visible confusion, she lifted the fabric revealing the pale curve of her bare stomach beneath the candlelight.

And then, to Razeal's growing unease, her stomach moved.

A visible ripple ran beneath her skin something shifting, pressing outward from the inside.

Razeal's eyes nerrowed slightly, his heart almost beated differently.

The movement became more violent, the shape beneath the skin distorting as though something was clawing to get out.

"What the.." he muttered, unable to finish the sentence.

The woman froze, her hand still resting on her stomach and then, with horrifying suddenness, two tiny shapes appeared beneath the stretched skin.

Hands.

They pressed against the inside of her abdomen, distorting the flesh grotesquely.

And then, before Razeal could even process what he was seeing, those tiny hands tore through.

The skin split open, blood spraying outward in a wet, violent burst.

The woman's scream tore through the silence raw, agonized, echoing against the cold stone walls.

Razeal's face went blank.

He didn't move.. Just watching

His eyes locked on the disgusting scene before him.

The woman's stomach had been ripped wide open, a jagged wound that pulsed with crimson. Blood streamed down her legs, staining her black robes a deep red.

And from within her torn flesh, a small figure pushed its way out an infant, drenched in blood, its tiny body trembling as it clawed upward.

It was… wrong.

Its eyes were open.. fully open, far too early, the pupils dark and clouded with something ancient, something evil.

It looked nothing like a newborn should. Its expression was aware disturbingly aware.. as though it had already lived a lifetime of malice.

The infant's hands gripped the edges of the wound, pulling itself free from the woman's torn abdomen, its body slick with blood and tissue. The umbilical cord still connected it to her, swaying slightly as the creature stepped onto the ground.

It stood.

On its own.

Barely formed, trembling, soaked in red yet standing upright on tiny legs.

The woman's screams hadn't stopped. They grew hoarser, her body convulsing from blood loss, but even in her agony, she did not move to stop it.

She didn't reach out. Didn't fight.

She just screamed her hands limp, her head thrown back as tears of blood streaked from beneath her veil.

Around her, the other women began to react.

But not in panic.

Not in fear.

They turned their heads toward her in unison and then, as though on some silent command, they began to chant.

Low, rhythmic, in a language that Razeal couldn't understand.

Their voices merged, echoing eerily through the dark chamber.

It wasn't mourning. It wasn't horror.

It was praise.

Celebration.

Some of the women stepped forward, their movements slow, deliberate. Their chanting grew louder, turning almost joyful.. their veils shaking slightly as they raised their hands toward the bloody infant standing before them.

Razeal just stared, his face expressionless but his eyes cold.

The child if it could even be called that.. stood silently, its black, depthless eyes fixed on nothing. Its tiny chest rose and fell, each breath shuddering. The air around it seemed to darken faint wisps of shadow curling off its skin.

Even without touching it, Razeal could feel the energy radiating from it.. raw, vile, wrong.

An aura that wasn't born of life, but of corruption itself.

The women's chanting grew wild. Some knelt, some raised their arms higher, their voices trembling with ecstatic devotion.

The room felt heavy, oppressive as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.

Razeal didn't move.

He didn't even know what he could feel at this point.

Shock? Disgust? Confusion?

His mind went silent, his usual composure fractured by the sheer grotesqueness of what he had just witnessed.

Finally, his lips parted slightly, and he exhaled a slow breath.

"…System," he said quietly, his tone flat but weary, "can you maybe… wipe out my memory of this scene that just happened?"

There was a brief pause before the mechanical voice answered.

[Apologies, host, but I have no function like that. Perhaps you should ask the villains. Some of them specialize in mind manipulation.]

Razeal blinked once, silent for a moment. Then he sighed faintly, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Of course," he muttered dryly. "Figures."

He turned his gaze back toward the scene before him the blood, the chanting, the infant that should not have existed.

"This was… so unneeded," he said quietly, his voice carrying a trace of disbelief.

He didn't even know how to describe it. The horror of it. The meaning behind it. The sheer violation of life and death he had just seen.

He just stood there silent, still, and speechless watching the nightmare unfold, knowing that even if the System couldn't erase it…

he would never forget it anyway.

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