Transmigrated as the Villain: I Will Destroy Fate

Chapter 175: Duality [7]

SCREEEEECH!

A visceral sound ripped through the battlefield.

Across the chaos of the broken selection zone, every head turned.

Luca, Grace, Freya, Irene...

The attention of every person on the battlefield was shifted.

Aura was fending off a swarm of mindless, mutated demons when the sound reached her ears.

The creatures had recognized her nature, their corrupted forms swarming her with murderous intent. She had been holding her own quite easily.

But then she heard it.

And she stopped.

The demos around her seemed to take their chance, but in an instant, she used one of her most powerful skills, violet garden, and decimated them all, uncaring that her demonic horns were now showing.

Her head snapped toward the source of the sound.

An abyss opened in her stomach.

It was a sensation she hadn’t felt since her mother teleported her away that day, an absolute dread that was more than fear.

WHOOOOSH!

A pillar of pure crimson energy erupted from the trees.

It seemed to reach towards the heavens, climbing endlessly.

It was less of a pillar of light and more of a pillar of raw, demonic energy.

Badump.

Rank 4?

No. Even a Rank 5 initial-stage powerhouse could not emit this kind of pressure.

This was something else. Something ancient.

The crushing force slammed Aura to her knees, and made her cough uncontrollably.

Badump. Badump. Badump.

Her heart was beating through her chest in fear.

The air grew thick.

Her own demonic energy recoiled and became small, like a frightened animal cowering before an apex predator.

But she fought it. With a strangled gasp, she forced her head up, her violet eyes fixed on the pillar of red.

What was it?

Had Mesmer’s true body appeared?

Her mind raced through a dozen impossible scenarios, but one settled with the chilling finality of a spadeful of dirt on a coffin.

Her eyes widened.

Ronan.

The name was a shard of ice in her heart, far colder than the oppressive energy crushing her body.

No.

Fear gripped her heart in a way that scared her more than the actual pillar of energy.

Did he give in? Did he let the Leech take over?

She remembered watching him die in the cult’s chamber.

She had felt a small, inconvenient pang of loss for a useful tool, maybe even a friend.

This was different.

She didn’t know why. Nothing should have changed.

But this was different.

She didn’t care to explain it to herself.

She forced her legs to obey, and her muscles screamed as she stood up.

Ignoring the mutated demons, ignoring everything, she sprinted toward the crimson beacon.

-------------

Seraphina’s world was a blur of pain and questions.

Why is Jason fighting us? Did Ronan really kill his brother? Why are there demons here after years and years of peace?

But one question drowned out all the others.

Am I going to die?

Jason’s sword pinned her hand to the earth, causing pain to erupt through her nerves.

She watched him approach Ronan. Her artifact, the one her mother had sworn would save her, remained silent.

It must have exhausted its charge against Brutas.

She was helpless.

Her heart hammered against her ribs.

Ronan. He was her friend. She remembered his stupid jokes in the Runic Arts Club, the way his eyes would crinkle at the corners when he teased her, the patience he showed when explaining a rune she couldn’t grasp. He treated her like Seraphina, not the Princess. He was different. Detached, yes. His eyes held a coldness that sometimes reminded her of her brother, Arthur. But where Arthur’s coldness felt like an act to get others to respect him, Ronan’s felt... honest.

An empty room with the door closed shut. She had wanted to see what was inside.

And now he was going to die.

They both were.

Jason raised his sword, and Seraphina’s breath caught in her throat.

Click.

Then everything stopped.

The wind died.

The rustling leaves froze mid-fall.

The air itself seemed to congeal.

Jason was a statue, his sword hovering inches from Ronan’s neck.

Seraphina’s own heart ceased to beat, a terrifying, absolute stillness in her chest.

Crimson ribbons – thin as spider silk and the color of fresh blood – tore through the skin of Ronan’s palms. More burst from his back, a grotesque and beautiful corona.

He stood, not with the pained stiffness of his injuries that he’d shown before, but with grace. He looked down at his hands. His expression was one of contemplation.

The eyes that lifted to meet Jason’s were no longer the empty, calculating pools she knew and recognized Ronan to have.

They were human.

Achingly, terrifyingly human, filled with a sorrow so deep that it hurt her own chest.

Jason stumbled back a step, his grief-fueled rage evaporating into pure, primal fear.

"What... what are you doing?"

But he didn’t attack.

The fear in his voice was raw.

Seraphina understood. She wouldn’t have attacked either.

More ribbons burst from Ronan’s body, swirling around him like a shroud of living silk.

Demonic energy, thick and suffocating, exploded from him.

It was a power unlike anything Seraphina had ever felt.

It dwarfed her father’s royal presence, made the Academy’s most powerful instructors feel like children playing with sparks.

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

It was like being chained at the bottom of the ocean, the weight of the world pressing down on her.

Ronan spoke.

"Of course," he murmured, a strange note of satisfaction in his tone. "You are the perfect vessel, after all."

Seraphina didn’t understand.

Before the question could fully form, the ribbons lashed out.

They wrapped around Jason Vrell’s neck with impossible speed.

Crack!

There was a faint, wet snap. Jason’s eyes went wide, not in pain, but in sheer, uncomprehending shock.

Then he collapsed, his head lolling at an unnatural angle.

Dead.

Just like that.

The man who had overwhelmed them so easily, who had beaten the three of them like he was playing with children, was defeated just like that.

Seraphina watched, both mesmersized and terrified.

The ribbons went to work on Ronan’s body.

The mangled flesh of his forearms knitted back together.

The blackened bones regained their colour, then were covered by new layers of muscle and skin.

In seconds, he was whole.

Perfect.

Not a single scar remained.

Slowly, the suffocating pressure dissipated.

Ronan pointed a single finger at her.

A ribbon shot out, wrapped around the hilt of Jason’s sword, and pulled it cleanly from her hand.

The sudden release of pressure sent a fresh wave of agony through her nerves, but it was immediately followed by a gentle, warm energy that flowed from the ribbon into her wound.

It was healing, but not like any she knew.

Instead of healing... it felt like it was mending the flesh back into place.

The world began to swim.

Her vision blurred at the edges.

She was losing consciousness.

The last thing she saw was Ronan.

The ancient sorrow in his eyes had vanished, replaced by a sudden, jarring emptiness.

His body, which had stood with such impossible power moments before, suddenly went limp.

He crumbled, folding in on himself like a puppet with its strings cut.

But before he hit the ground, a figure blurred past her peripheral vision.

A woman with horns caught him, her arms wrapping around his falling body.

Seraphina heard a scream, a raw, desperate sound that tore through the quiet forest.

"Ronan!"

The woman was shaking him, her voice thick with terror.

But the world was fading to black, and the desperate cries became a distant echo.