Supreme Villain: Seducing the Heroines

Chapter 47 47: "..."

?

Amon's body stepped closer to the fearful wolf girl, her ears flopped and body trembling; however, he stopped, his eyes glowing a brilliant purple for a split second.

"This isn't it." His voice whispered, a dull, hoarse as if he had not spoken in countless years, maybe decades.

-

Somewhere in the depths of Amon's Spirit Palace.

In the centre of a murky wasteland stands a tall manor, dilapidated, worn down like a ghost's manor, abandoned for generations.

The ground cracked, filled with dirty water.

Broken glass litters the path towards the tall building, while darkness fills the skies because there is no more sunlight, the flowers are all crushed, and blood fills the muddy carpets.

Inside the mansion, the walls are tattered with black mould, leaking pipes a tale of a broken and unmanaged home.

Sitting in the far back is a disgusting man, his face seemingly once handsome, maybe even a model.

There were familiar features shared with Amon, a messy grey beard filled with crumbs and matted together, unwashed knotted hair and a stench of cheap alcohol that drowns the air with a sickly yet nostalgic taste.

On a tall, broken chair made of black wood, he sits in an empty room, a broken laptop, murky paper and parchment now yellow and rotten, words that could write ballads, romances and action flicks, now a blurry smudge of ink.

Below him, two other iterations of Amon lay on the ground, their faces marred with scars, blood and terror.

One with a blade in his chest, yet still he breaths, anger and hatred towards the one he loved most, a desire to kill and crush everyone that wronged him.

The other, his neck hanging to the side, clearly broken, eyes void of any desire, a single piece of paper, the lines blurred but the intent obvious.

A drunk

A weakling

And

A fool

These three men, all of the same source, why were they here? Inside the current Amon's soul space?

Bang! Crackle!

Suddenly.

Thunder and lightning sounded and burst from the sky, striking the ground dozens of times like the rage of a thunder god.

The ground began to tremble as if something fearsome had appeared.

The world began to quake, and the dark skies cracked apart, slowly like an egg tapping gently on the pan's edge; brilliant light began to shine down upon the lonely world, its gentle warmth reviving the land.

The dirt became fertile as the grass filled with life; bright green, with shades of verdant colourful flowers, danced along a white pathway, a strange figure slowly walking along the path.

As he moved, the world came to life, as if he was creating each fibre of glass, a ray of light the world began to live once again.

Slowly, his feet moved closer; raising a single arm, a black tiger dashed along the dirt path; under its feet, the beautiful white marble stone continued to form, with flowers and trees spreading endlessly, the world once small, now eternal.

In the skies a huge black dragon dances through the skies, its black wings tearing the darkness and devouring it back into its own body, like the aspect of the night.

Outside the manor, a fantasy story was being created.

One where a single man controlled divine beasts to perform a miracle and restore the world to how it should be.

Now the skies were clear, two suns shining in the air, their brilliant light soothing the land, as slowly the chirping of birds, rustling of animals and the buzzing of insects began to sport, the man's lips humming a joyful song at the sound.

With their task complete, the dragon and tiger return to the man's side, forming entrance posts side-by-side before the broken mansion.

Slowly, vines and wood begin to wrap around the lonely house, like something from the late 1990s.

They tore down the walls and swallowed the rotten and mouldy bricks before creating a beautiful, magical wooden mansion filled with fantasy and mysticism.

Amon's world was alive again.

The man now approached the mansion, his face finally visible!

A handsome man, some might say is an understatement, heroic, fierce and extremely attractive, his silky black hair shimmering in the sunlight while tied in a neat ponytail, with two long strands of hair flickering in the wind.

He wore a red velvet suit, a black shirt and shoes, and a beautiful red rose in the chest pocket, the petals vibrant with a sweet scent.

His figure was almost surreal.

"Here I am..." The man's voice was soft, but the words caused the air to vibrate, and the world seemed to shudder while the trees danced to his voice.

Clack!

The grand wooden door had four spots, two with large engravements of a western dragon and a black and silver tiger. A third spot seemed a phoenix's shape, while the last was still a complete blur.

"I thought I could leave it up to them..."

"My remnants."

Tap!

His feet stepped on the wood, a light grating from his weight, pushing the door open; the hinges were new, so there was no sound, only the feeling of being assaulted by the scent of cedarwood, tobacco and dark chocolate.

A nostalgic and favourite wine of his.

However, the man could not stop to admire or dwelling on this nostalgic scent; he paced towards the now grand throne, a beautiful chair created with the dark trunk of what could only be called the wood of a world tree.

Intricate branches with countless flowers all entangled to form the headboard and a large display, the arms created from dark black wood, shimmering with a glossy finish, with two beautiful dark roses for hand rests.

Were they petals or wood?

It was unknown from one angle. They bent and danced like petals in the summer breeze; they were hard, stubborn like a tree in the autumn winds.

The Drunk

The Weakling

And

The Fool

All watched him approach, the crazed eyes of the drunk, his dirty eyes now glazed over and dull, fixated on the beautiful appearance of the man who looked 20 years younger than he did, wearing luxury clothes.

Yet the man's eyes were closed, and the man in the suit's eyes opened slowly.

A dazzling, beautiful pair of clear eyes, their violet tint causing the three men to turn away.

Jealous.

Ashamed.

Apathetic.

"..."

The suited male took a deep breath, his eyes looking at the three parasites before tapping his cheek.

"Kneel."

Like a king's order, an immense force flowed from his voice, causing the weakling and fool to smash their faces into the ground, blood oozing from their noses and broken teeth.

Yet the drunk resisted, grabbing desperately onto his borrowed throne.

"Submit to me." The man in red called out once more.

The spirits were all identical to him but inferior; fragments of their former selves growled before rushing towards him,

Even the drunk left his thrown, his arms swinging to make a last stand against the man.

However...

He sneered at them.

A simple sneer from the man in red caused a massive aura to resonate from his body, once again, the pressure slamming them into the ground. The drunk could not resist this time, his face buried into the hard wood with a crack.

They tried to lift their faces but failed; once again, the beautiful voice causing the world to ripple sounded in their ears.

"You refuse?"

The three fragments seemed to realise something, their faces pale and terror-filled.

Upon seeing their reactions, the man in red's lips curved into a strange smile, twisted and wicked like a demon from the lowest depths of hell, back from his torture and once again roaming the earth.

"Tia can not help you in here."

The man in the suit was suddenly wrapped in an illusory black dragon; it's a huge body hanging over his back.

His suit's right sleeve began to tear, with the dragon's claws leaning on his right arm, as pristine black scales grew along his right arm, their shine flawless and toughness beyond a diamond.

He watched the three shards all copy him, with inferior and dull scales growing on their pathetic arms.

"Do you think you can match the one that wrote you in his likeness?"

A soft and self-deprive voice caused them to stop for a moment, but that delay was fatal.

Roar!

Suddenly the roar of a male tiger sounded before its large body brushed against the man in red's left arm.

Suddenly like the dragon, the tiger became illusory, filling his arm with silver and black stripes, growing two sizes larger with thick bulky muscles and throbbing veins.

In contrast, thick fur covered his arm from shoulder to fingertips, filled with sharp tiger claws.

Once again, the tearing sound meant his suit was missing two arms, but it looked wild and sexy.

Fierce and explosive, one arm that of a black dragon, covered in scales.

The other, the arm of a Snow Tiger relentless and filled with immense power protected by thick fur.

Thud!

All three men kneel, their arms no longer ready for battle, even the drunk, both hands placed before his body, bowing to the man in the red suit, seeming to want to surrender.

But they could not speak; this was not their palace nor their world.

He gave them the chance to submit, and it was too late.

"Did you have fun?"

"I am sure you did."

The three spirits turned their faces down, cold sweat pouring from their bodies.

He was forced to perform their actions; if they wished to kill, he killed; these bastards, since the very beginning, had been planted into his soul, not to help him grow.

But to keep him under control.

"Alice is mine."

"Elma is mine."

"Mother is mine."

"Kizuna is mine."

"Rebecca is mine!"

"Everything in this world is mine!"

"You filthy pirates, stealing my novel, changing my characters, defiling my protagonist!"