Transmigrated as the Villain Between the Heroine and the Villainess

The much-awaited morning came.

All eyes were on the arena.

Azrael stood at his side of the field.

Checks were done. Gear in place. The crowd hummed like distant bees.

The simple sword felt good in his right hand.

The cold metal of Quill's gauntlet on his left.

He was ready.

Kaelen stood across from him.

But Kaelen held a new sword.

A big blade. It seemed to glow from inside with soft, holy light.

'Eternalcleaver,' Azrael thought, his stomach tightening.

'Blessed by light. So the story moved same while I was gone.'

While he had been training, the hero found a new weapon.

Typical. The plot found a way to arm its champion.

He scanned the stands.

Seraphina stood in the front row behind Kaelen, her face was worried and hopeful at once.

Isolde and Elvara sat together higher up.

Isolde gave Azrael a quick thumbs-up, that cute, fake cheer on her face.

Elvara just stared, face unreadable.

Selvara was not in sight.

Azrael felt the weight of that.

He thought of their last words, the confusion she had left him with.

He breathed out slow. 'Selvara. I hope you live through this. I hope you get to see the world outside your cage.'

His thoughts then turned to the reason for her cage.

The demon followers. Beings tricked or manipulated, promised power in exchange for their souls.

He knew the truth about demons, a truth the manga had only begun to explore.

They were a race that could not be easily destroyed. When their bodies were killed, the spirits of the stronger ones lingered, weakened but not gone.

Over time, they would regain their power but they could never reclaim their old forms. They needed a vessel. A strong body to inhabit to corrupt.

But taking control wasn't easy. The demon spirit couldn't just seize a body.

It had to gain the host's trust, to form a pact. The host would get the power they desperately craved, and the demon would get a home.

But if the host's will was weak, if their spirit was broken, the demon would take complete control.

The original soul would become a prisoner in its own flesh.

It was the fate of Marius, and of Eric.

'Someone wanted Kaelen's body,' he mused, his eyes narrowing as he studied the hero. 'A typical plot, for a typical story. But who was behind it? Another demon, hiding in the shadows?'

His thoughts were cut short by the referee's sharp voice.

"Are both parties ready?"

Kaelen nodded. Calm, sure.

Azrael put on a grin that looked almost wild.

He nodded too.

"Begin the duel!" the referee shouted.

Neither of them rushed. They walked, slow and watchful, circling the center of the arena.

Kaelen spoke first, smooth and cold.

"I've been watching you, Azrael. That heroic showcase of strength back in the village. The near death you encountered when you went missing. I see it made you stronger. My blows taught you lessons."

Azrael let out a soft, mocking laugh.

Pss.

"Your beatings? Oh please. Those were warm-ups. The real change came later. You should be happy if I hadn't gotten stronger, this would be boring."

Kaelen hardened.

"You have that sharp tongue. Words won't win you this fight. Prove it."

Azrael smiled wider.

"Prove what? That you need to feel superior? That you need to pin me so everyone can clap for you?"

Kaelen's face flushed.

"This is to punish your arrogance!" he snapped.

Azrael stopped walking and looked at him like the whole thing was a play.

"You say arrogance. I say I'm here for fun. Go on then. Show me."

That was the spark.

Kaelen roared and lunged.

CLANG!

Sword met sword in a flash. Sparks flew like metal rain.

Kaelen was brute force. He struck like a battering ram.

His swings pushed Azrael back. The power in Eternalcleaver hit like a hammer. Sand kicked up.

Azrael's arms shook. The shock travelled up his shoulders.

Then, with a quick motion, Azrael tried his thread magic.

Tiny, near-invisible threads shot out of the air. They aimed for Kaelen's legs, his sword arm.

They were meant to tangle, to slow.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

The threads broke under Kaelen's pure force. Golden light flared from Kaelen and dissolved them.

Azrael realized: Kaelen's Battleborn Will was starting to bloom.

Power rose around the hero like a halo. He felt stronger as the duel went on.

Azrael grinned like a madman. 'Come on. Get stronger. I want to feel where I stand.'

Kaelen pulled a heavy slash down. Azrael parried.

CRACK!

The impact was fierce. The blow shuddered up Azrael's arm.

Metal sang. His grip slipped. The force yanked his sword from his hand. It flew across the sand.

Azrael tumbled back and hit the ground.

Kaelen planted his boots, chest heaving, sword bright.

He looked down with a smug, slow smile.

"It's over. Give up." he said.

Azrael tasted blood, laughed weak and wet. Drip.

"Give up?" he coughed. "Give up? Sorry, I don't do charity wins"

The remark got a laugh from the crowd. Some teachers frowned. Kaelen's face tightened.

He raised the Eternalcleaver for the final cut.

It came down like daylight.

And stopped.

The sword's tip met Azrael's left hand and did nothing. The holy blade fizzed against the gauntlet and failed.

Kaelen's eyes went wide. The world seemed to slow.

Before Kaelen could pull back, Azrael's right hand shot forward.

WHAM!

His fist hit Kaelen's gut. The hero's breath left him in a single terrible sound.

The sword slipped. Kaelen staggered, eyes wild.

Azrael's left fist Quill's gauntlet hit the hero's jaw with a CRACK.

Kaelen flew sideways, slammed into the sand, his sword skittering away.

He screamed and coughed.

Azrael got up slow, blood on his lips, grin sharp like a blade.

"What's wrong?" he mocked. "Thought it would be easy?"

Kaelen scrambled up, furious. He charged. No swords now. Only fists and rage.

They traded punches. Kaelen's blows were heavy, like hammers.

For a while, he dominated. He drove Azrael backward.

One punch snapped into Azrael's face so hard his lip split.

He tasted iron.

He put a finger to the cut and looked at the red on his fingertip.

He smiled. Maniac, sharp.

"Do you know how much this blood will cost you?" he said low.

'Limit Break,' he thought, and then he yelled it.

Pain tore him apart. His muscles screamed. He felt bones push like they would burst. The crowd made a sound like a held breath.

Then the pain slowed.

He stood breathing hard. His body steamed. His eyes glowed faint violet.

A status screen blinked before him for a second, bright and cold.

[◈ STATUS MANIFEST ◈]

[Name: Azrael Ashveil]

[Rank: Expert]

[◈ CORE ATTRIBUTES ◈]

Strength: 100 / 100 (Max)

Agility: 32 / 100

Endurance: 54 / 100

Intelligence: 13 / 100

Aether: 90 / 100

Luck: 50 / 100

Charisma: 20 / 100

'IQ, Charm, and Luck don't rise,' he noted with a dry edge. 'Everything else triples. Not bad.'

He looked at Kaelen who stood blinking, breathless, face full of shock.

"The real fight begins now," Azrael said low.

He moved like a blur. One punch, then another.

He struck Kaelen in the ribs.

Crack.

Kaelen spun.

Azrael was there again, a chain of blows, each one faster than the last.

The crowd screamed with every hit. His fists were a storm.

Kaelen tried to swing back, but Azrael's speed ate his defenses.

The hero flew from one blow and crashed across the sand. He slid far, then hit the ground hard.

The arena went quiet for a heartbeat.

Kaelen began to push himself up, blood and sand on his face. Rage burned in his eyes.

Azrael stood in the center, chest rising and falling, a wild grin like a promise. 'Show me everything, hero. Make me feel stronger too.'

Then, as Kaelen stood, Azrael launched forward again.

He hammered, every strike precise, heavy, tuned to break guard and breath.

Kaelen tried to use skill, to find a gap. But Azrael's strength and speed were too much now.

Hands, elbows, knees each strike landed clean.

With a final thunderous blow, Azrael sent Kaelen flying.

He went up and out, the sand throwing up under him as his body flew.

Kaelen hit the arena floor a dozen meters away, skidding to a stop in a crumpled heap.

The sand hissed.

Dust rose.

The crowd's sound burst like a storm.

The referee shouted. "Stop! Stop!" but no one moved. No one could say who had won.

Azrael stood over the center, breathing heavy. His gloves dripped with sand and blood.

His grin was fierce. Maniac and pleased.

Around him the crowd roared, but no clear winner stood.

The duel had been brutal. It had torn the script to pieces.

No one had won. No one had finished.

The hour hung there, trembling like a held note.

And the next move, the next moment, would decide who was stronger.

-- -- -- --

A/N

Hand over all your Golden Tickets and Power Stones... or I might just have to pull this trigger 🔫