Transmigrated as the Villain Between the Heroine and the Villainess

Azrael stood in a forest which was close to quill's mansion.

He stretched his stiff body, his muscles aching from the long and cramped ride.

The arrival here had been easy, in a way. The journey itself was hell.

He remembered leaving the Ashveil mansion. The trip to the border was a blur of unfamiliar roads.

The guards at the Elarion border were strict, their glowing visors scanning every cart and bag that passed.

But Quill Var Emreis was not someone they dared to question.

He had simply placed Azrael's luggage in the back of his car.

Azrael had spent the entire journey folded uncomfortably inside a expanded suitcase, listening to the muffled sounds of the world outside.

The soldiers hadn't even thought of asking the Vice Headmaster to open his bags.

Now, after hours of travel in one of Elarion's sleek, silent vehicles that hummed with a low magical energy, they were here.

Elarion was different from the human domain.

It wasn't just a land of warriors, but of ideas. In the distance, he could see tall, elegant towers that seemed to be woven from both stone and light.

Strange, glowing devices whirred on posts along the road, blending seamlessly with the ancient, magical trees.

It was the hub of all worlds, where technology from countless realms fused with sorcery.

'This place really is something else,' he thought, taking it all in.

But Quill wasn't admiring the view. He stood in the middle of the clearing, his golden, slitted eyes scanning the trees. Inside, his thoughts were elsewhere.

'I've trained many before,' Quill told himself, his posture stiff and formal. 'But Azrael is different. He is her brother. This isn't just training. This is my chance to prove myself to her.'

He clenched his fist at his side. Clench.

'How can I make him see me as more than just a teacher? How can I make him think - Master, you are the perfect one for my sister?'

The thought filled him with a secret, forbidden warmth. He almost smiled, picturing it in his head. Celestria's soft, surprised face.

Azrael's nod of approval. The words he longed to hear her say.

But then his gaze landed on Azrael, who was rubbing his sore shoulders. The fantasy shattered.

'Wait. If I'm lenient, he'll grow too slow. He might even think I'm weak. He might think I'm not good enough for her. No. I will not allow that. I will push him harder than anyone. I will put him through hell. I will show him what real power is.'

Azrael noticed the shift in his expression. The distant, thoughtful look was gone, replaced by a cold, hard focus. His stomach tightened.

'That look. Yeah, this is going to be bad.'

Quill finally spoke, his tone deceptively calm. "Your training will not be that hard."

Azrael narrowed his eyes. 'Not that hard? That means the exact opposite.'

Quill pointed to a massive boulder. It was as thick as a small house, covered in moss and ancient, deep cracks. "Break that. With your fists."

Azrael blinked. Then he let out a dry, disbelieving laugh.

"You're joking. I can't break that. Not in my whole life. Even if I punched it every day until I died, it would still be standing there."

Quill said nothing. He walked to the boulder. His golden eyes gleamed with a strange, intense light.

He clenched his fist. Clench.

And with one smooth, effortless motion, he struck.

CRACK!

The sound was like a thunderclap right next to Azrael's ear.

The boulder didn't just crack. It exploded.

Chunks of stone, some as large as Azrael himself, shot into the forest, disappearing so far into the trees he couldn't see where they landed. The ground trembled.

A cloud of dust rose like smoke, filling the clearing.

Azrael froze. His jaw was slack. His chest felt tight, like he couldn't get enough air.

Quill turned back to him, his expression sharp, his knuckles completely unmarked. "Do you understand now?"

Azrael clenched his own fists, shaking his head. "Our bodies are different. You're a dragonkin. I'm human. No human could ever do that."

Quill's golden eyes burned into him. "Yes. Our bodies are different. That is why I will make yours the same."

Azrael stiffened. 'The same? He can't mean—'

Quill stepped closer, his voice cold and commanding, leaving no room for argument. "I will rebuild you. Bone, muscle, and spirit. You will strike that stone until your body learns. You will bleed, you will break, and you will heal. Until you can do what I just did."

Azrael swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. Gulp.

"That's not training," he muttered. "That's torture."

Quill ignored him. His fist clenched again, and he punched the ground at Azrael's feet. The soil exploded, leaving a deep crater.

"Start," he ordered.

Azrael stood before the next boulder, his heart pounding a frantic, terrified rhythm. He pulled his fist back and slammed it forward with all his might.

Crack.

He left a small scratch on the surface of the stone. Pain, sharp and immediate, shot up his arm.

He hissed.

Again.

Crack. His skin split, and blood welled up on his knuckles.

"Again," Quill said, his voice firm, unmoving.

Azrael punched again. Crack. Again. Crack. Blood smeared the rock, a pathetic red stain on the grey stone, but the boulder didn't break.

'This is insane,' he thought, gritting his teeth against the pain. 'I can't do this. I'll kill myself trying.'

But his fists didn't stop. Again. Again. Each strike tore his skin, his muscles, his bones a little more.

His arms shook. His breath came in ragged gasps. But his eyes stayed locked on the stone.

Quill watched him silently. At first, he felt a grim satisfaction. This was how strength was forged.

But as the hours dragged on, as the sun climbed high into the sky and began to dip towards the horizon, a small sliver of doubt crept into his mind.

'What am I doing? This is too much. He is only human. I have pushed him too far, too fast. Was I just trying to impress her? Am I a fool?'

Then his gaze met Azrael's again. The boy's fists were raw, swollen, bloody messes.

His body trembled with exhaustion. But his eyes his eyes still burned with a stubborn, defiant fire.

'He refuses to stop,' Quill realized with a jolt of surprise. 'Even when his body gives out, his will won't. He's still standing against it.'

Azrael slammed his fist against the stone again. Clench. Crack.

He staggered, nearly falling, but caught himself, his legs shaking.

'It hurts,' he thought, his mind a haze of pain. 'Every hit tears me apart. But I can't stop. If I stop now, I will never change. I will never reach where I need to be.'

He struck again, his blood a fresh, wet stain on the unyielding stone.

Quill's throat tightened. His mask of cold indifference faltered for a moment.

'He's insane. But he's… determined. More than anyone I have ever trained.'

By sunset, the forest clearing was painted red with Azrael's blood.

He finally collapsed to his knees. His arms hung uselessly at his sides, his fists swollen and torn beyond recognition. His chest heaved, his breath heavy and ragged.

But even kneeling in the dirt, his eyes were locked on the boulder. Unbroken. Unyielding.

Quill turned his head slightly, hiding the flicker of respect in his eyes. His voice, when it came, was sharp again, back to the role he had chosen to play.

"Enough. Day one is over."

Azrael panted, his head hanging low.

'Day one,' he thought, the taste of blood in his mouth. 'And I couldn't break a single rock. But I'll keep going. Even if it kills me. I'll break it. I swear it.'

Quill studied him for a long moment. Inside, his thoughts whispered.

'If he survives this… he will become something else. Something even I didn't expect.'

The forest grew quiet. Only Azrael's ragged breathing filled the air.

Day one of the training had ended.

Hell had just begun.