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The Villain's Story

"So, I'm supposed to just go along with the flow?" He questioned, his refusal evident. "I'm expected to surrender to whatever destiny has planned? To accept whatever hand I'm dealt by the cursed fate of this vessel?" He rejected the idea outright. "After finally thinking I'd broken free from the clutches of that accursed snake, now this? The transgressions of this vessel's original owners are not mine to bear! I'm not the same; I'm an entirely different entity!" His laughter reverberated maniacally, filling the air. Because, let's be honest, who wouldn't teeter on the edge of madness when the mightiest entities, armed with their colossal power, are relentlessly pursuing you? Those supreme and primordial beings, capable of obliterating galaxies with casual ease... how could anyone endure such overwhelming fear? Could anyone really accept the cursed hand that fate had dealt them? Yes, He would. He had to. "Fuck it." He declared with a fervor. "I don't care...I don't care if it's destiny or fate or whatever! Even if it's the supreme beings...I...I don't give a damn! If they feel the need to dictate my life, decide my ending on sins I am not guilty of...than I have only one thing to say. BRING IT ON!" ---------------------------------------------------------------- Discord: https://discord.gg/Sgxw6QEsgE

Blazuku · Fantasy
Not enough ratings
596 Chs

[430] Destiny collides, fate intertwines.

[Tower of Trials, 4th lobby,]

Elijah rested his tired body as soon as he arrived at the lobby. He slumped down and lay down on the ground, his chest heaving up and down. His body was covered in wounds. He looked at his sword, the Sword of Sundering hellfire was looking worn out.

"Damn it."

He sighed and got up, ignoring the exhaustion that plagued his body and mind. He accessed the system interface and bought an enchanted whetstone.

Buying a potion that brought his weapon to its top condition would have been better, but Elijah didn't necessarily have the leisure to buy such an expensive item. Furthermore, he felt at peace when doing this. The mere act of sharpening his blade, in the solitude that he found himself in, with nothing but the grinding of the whetstone accompanying his ears, was peaceful to him.

It may have sounded odd but he felt at peace whenever he did some sort of manual labor when he was tired or exhausted. It felt calming to him.

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