Blood pooled beneath Adrian Vale as he pressed a trembling hand against the wound tearing through his chest. The office that had once been pristine and intimidating now lay in ruin: broken glass, overturned furniture, papers scattered like dead leaves, the faint hum of city sirens drifting through cracked windows.
He tried to breathe. Air escaped in shallow, sharp gasps. Pain lanced through him, yet a calm, almost cruel clarity settled in his mind. He could feel every muscle, every sinew, every heartbeat—the moment stretched, dense, heavy, alive.
"You built all of this," he murmured, his voice low, steady, chillingly calm. "Every empire, every plan, every man and woman in this room… I allowed it."
In front of him stood the three he had trusted most—Elara Kane, Vance, and Mara. People he had raised, trained, groomed. And now they pointed guns at him, their hands trembling slightly under the weight of fear, duty, and the invisible hands orchestrating the betrayal.
Elara, the leader, stepped forward, long black hair cascading over her shoulders. Her eyes were sharp, like polished obsidian, lips quivering—not with hatred, but something far more complicated. "Adrian… you've gone too far. The world cannot allow you to—"
"Too far?" he interrupted softly, amusement curling his lips. "The world has always revolved around me. Until five minutes ago, it still did."
Vance sneered, stepping beside her. "Enough talk. End him."
Adrian's eyes narrowed. "Do you really think killing me will free anyone?"
"It will free the world," Vance said, voice tight, teeth clenched.
Adrian chuckled softly, the sound like ice cracking under pressure. "No. It will break it."
The barrels lifted. A click echoed, unnervingly loud in the shattered room.
Then, inside his mind, a strange, mechanical hum. A voice, flat, emotionless, resonating directly in his thoughts:
[SYSTEM BOOTING…]
He froze.
[THE ETERNAL VILLAIN'S GAME INITIALIZED.]
[OBJECTIVE: BECOME THE STRONGEST VILLAIN IN ALL WORLDS.]
[SECONDARY OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE.]
[PENALTY FOR FAILURE: PERMANENT DEATH.]
Even in the face of death, he smiled. Destiny had a twisted sense of irony.
"Adrian?" Elara whispered, eyes widening at the sudden, unnatural clarity in his gaze.
But it was too late.
A single shot rang out. Pain exploded through his chest. He staggered backward, collapsing against the glass wall behind him. Crimson bloomed beneath him like a dark flower, stark and terrifying against the office's muted tones.
"You think you're the players," he whispered, voice breaking slightly, his breaths shallow. "You're merely the pieces."
His fingers twitched.
[SYSTEM RECOGNIZES CRITICAL STATE.]
[INITIATING SOUL TRANSFER PROTOCOL.]
[WARNING: SUCCESS RATE — 0.004%]
[PROCESSING…]
Darkness swallowed him.
Then—light.
---
Adrian gasped as air flooded his lungs. He bolted upright in a small, cheap apartment bed, cold sweat soaking his clothes. The room was modest: a cracked fan slowly oscillating, faded curtains barely holding back morning light, a cluttered desk, and a cracked phone screen that he had no memory of breaking. No blood. No pain. No trace of the opulence, power, or influence he once commanded.
[SOUL TRANSFER COMPLETE.]
[WELCOME TO WORLD-067: NEON CITY REGION.]
He pressed a palm to his chest. There was no wound—but a strange, faint pulse radiated from beneath his skin. A mark, a symbol that had not been there before. Subtle. Almost imperceptible. Ancient. The kind of thing a man might dismiss as a birthmark or scar… but his instincts screamed otherwise. Something in him was awakening. Something powerful. Something… dangerous.
The door shook with a knock. "Adrian! Wake up! The landlord's coming. You can't hide forever!"
The voice was ordinary, soft, tinged with worry. Adrian opened the door. A young woman stood there—dark brown hair tied in a messy ponytail, wide eyes staring, curiosity mixed with anxiety. "You… look different," she said.
"I'm fine," he replied, calm, deliberate, calculating. His voice carried authority even in casual conversation. Something in the way he spoke made the girl pause. He studied her carefully, seeing potential, opportunity, connection. "Just woke up differently," he added, letting his smirk hint at a secret she could not understand.
She stepped back, blushing faintly. "Okay… I'll leave you be for now."
Adrian closed the door and walked to the window. Outside, the urban jungle stretched endlessly: neon signs flickering, cars crawling like ants, crowds moving like currents in a restless river. The city pulsed with life, danger, and opportunity. His mind raced, cataloging every detail, every potential angle, every weakness in the world around him.
He glanced down at his hand, flexing his fingers. Dark hair, sharp features, piercing eyes—he looked like a man of modest means, perfect for blending in, observing, plotting. But beneath the surface, a storm brewed.
[SYSTEM UPDATE AVAILABLE UPON FIRST VILLAINOUS TRIGGER.]
He smirked. "Let's begin."
---
The apartment was small, dim, and unremarkable, but it contained something more: the pulse of hidden power. Adrian had been transplanted into a body that was not his own, yes—but the body carried secrets he could not yet grasp. He flexed his fingers again. A faint warmth tingled through his blood, a resonance he did not understand. Somewhere far away, someone—or something—was aware of it. Watching. Measuring. Waiting.
He moved to the broken mirror, catching his reflection. The faint symbol on his chest pulsed slightly again, invisible to anyone but him. He traced it with his fingertip. A chill ran down his spine, curiosity flickering through him. His blood, he realized, was different. Not ordinary. Strong. Ancient.
A shadow moved outside his window, subtle enough to be mistaken for passing pedestrians. His instincts tensed. Whoever—or whatever—it was, it recognized him. His presence, his bloodline, or perhaps his soul.
Somewhere, deep in the city's veins, a group of observers whispered, "He's alive. The last blood has awakened."
And Adrian smiled faintly. The game had begun.
---
He began exploring the apartment, testing the body, flexing his reflexes. Movement was smooth, stronger than expected. His mind cataloged every corner, every shadow, every creak of the floorboards. The world was new, yet he felt… aligned. Connected to it. The faint pulse in his chest quickened when he made decisions, instinctively guiding him. Something old, ancient, buried, stirred in recognition.
He opened the apartment window. The city stretched below like a chessboard. The first steps were simple—observe, learn, integrate—but Adrian's mind already raced ahead. By the time the landlord knocked, demanding overdue rent, Adrian would already have calculated how to manipulate the situation, how to leverage resources, how to acquire allies, how to dominate without anyone noticing.
And somewhere in the shadows, someone noticed him notice them.
---
Outside the city's neon chaos, distant towers of hidden power loomed. A secret, ancient clan whose existence was whispered in legends and suppressed in modern history had taken note of Adrian's awakening. One of their heirs had appeared in the flesh—a candidate, a threat, and a potential heir whose power could reshape the modern world if left unchecked.
He did not know it yet. He would not know it for days, weeks, perhaps months. But a part of him—the bloodline, the ancient resonance—whispered truths beneath his consciousness. Power. Ambition. Survival. Villainy.
And Adrian Vale, the villain reborn, would listen.
He smiled, standing before the cracked mirror once more. The city pulsed, alive with opportunity. And he—poor, alone, unremarkable in appearance—would play the eternal villain's game as no one had ever played before.
The first move had already been made.