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[Villian] Chapter 1: Transmigration
🕑 Added 2025-03-31 02:35:36 +0000 UTCDamien was unsurprised to see him on the news again.
"Sir Windsor, Sir Windsor! Due to extensive inbreeding, many prominent members of parliament and concerned citizens have compared the Silverkin family to the modern-day Habsburgs. Could you respond to these claims and shed some light on the situation?" A middle-aged woman wearing a navy-blue cashmere suit held up a branded microphone toward the back of a tall man.
The man paused his hurried steps and turned toward the reporter—his elongated jaw, sunken eyes, looming stature, and crooked nose gave him a frightening appearance, yet the reporter, determined for a response, pressed on. "Rumors are circulating that the heir to the Silverkin conglomerate is actually suffering from severe birth defects as he has been supposedly 'recovering' from an illness since he was born. That was over eighteen years ago! The public demands an official response!"
Damien moved his head with great effort across the pillow and focused his attention on the television at the foot of his bed. His father, Lord Silverkin, paused momentarily, formulating the perfect response as always.
He didn’t hold his breath in anticipation as he already knew how his father would respond. His family preferred to pretend he didn't exist, a stain on their already questionable record. To hold onto power and wealth, the family engaged in some questionable practices that resulted in the situation the reporter had outlined. They treasured the Sliverkin bloodline over all else, and Damien’s blood was muddied. He was a bastard, born between Lord Silverkin and a woman he had never met. Whoever his mother had been, any evidence of her had been wiped clean.
Damien was the last remanent of his father’s little affair. A bastard he was sure the man on the television wished was dead and forgotten.
His father tapped on his smartwatch, avoiding eye contact with the eager reporter. "As I've said before, I have no such son. My firstborn, Kieran Silverkin, shall be inheriting the conglomerate—"
"Television off." The screen turned black, and silence filled the room. He stared at his bedridden self in the mirror of the television for a moment before sighing. Another day in this hospital, he mused. Looking around the hospital room to distract himself and eyed his VR headset on a nearby wooden table. While his family refused to confirm his existence publicly, they didn't mistreat him in a vain attempt to keep him happy and distracted from talking to the media.
Though it hadn’t always been like this. Despite what the reporter had claimed, he had actually been born quite healthy. It was only a decade ago that his body suddenly started falling apart. The doctors his family hired claimed that he had an uncountable number of genetic mutations and terminal illnesses. A claim he didn’t fully buy, but it was hard to argue with the facts.
Damien looked at his bandaged body with pale skin, stick-figure limbs, and rotting black splotches.
I used to hope that one day, I would get better and be able to once again explore the world beyond this hospital room. His head tilted to the side, his neck cracking as he did. Sunlight streaked through the large window, making him squint. Outside, he could see the tops of lush trees, and in the vast blue sky, clouds lazily moved by without a care in the world.
Luckily, with advancements in technology, there was a way for him to experience a world. Gathering some oxygen in his lungs, he wheezed, "Hastings." His voice croaked due to his thin windpipe.
The heavy wooden door to the private hospital room quickly opened, and a middle-aged man with slick black hair strode in with measured steps.
"Young master? You called?"
"Hi, Hastings." Damien weakly smiled at the man. Hastings was the only attendant who had remained by his side until this day. Once he had been deemed a lost cause by the Silverkin family, the many attendants he used to rely on left. Hastings was also an avid player of Throne of Awakening, the best VR game he had ever played, and they often discussed strategies for clearing the game.
Hastings returned a sad smile and gestured toward the aluminum and glass helmet resting on the nightstand. "More Throne of Awakening today, Young Master?"
"Yeah, can you please hook me up?"
"As you wish," Hastings moved around his bed toward the table, "Are you still trying to clear the game with villain characters?"
Damien hummed in agreement rather than nodding, as any movement was far too painful for him.
"How's it been going? I haven't tried the new DLC myself yet."
"Quite bad," Damien admitted, "It's not shown in the player's status menu, but people on the forums have confirmed that all villain characters have a hidden trait called 'A Villain’s Fate.' It practically guarantees the storyline to find a way to kill the player one way or another. The death flags feel endless."
"That sounds quite intense. Which villain have you been using?"
"Damien Nightshade." He replied with a frown, "I picked him because we share the same name, but I think I might have to switch out for another. He's too difficult to clear the game with."
"You should have seen what people were saying online about him." Hastings chuckled as he held the daft punk-looking helmet over his head but paused. "Young Master, today is not a good day for you."
The joyful atmosphere in the room was crushed in an instant by the weight of reality. "The test results came back?" he asked in a cautious tone. "Are they good or bad?"
Hastings gave an oddly cold look, “They certainly aren't looking good.”
Damien felt crestfallen for a moment. He knew this news was on the horizon. "How long do I have?"
Hastings answered with a silence.
"I see," Damien looked up at the helmet, "Maybe I can survive doing one last run."
"The doctors advised against it," Hastings said, "But honestly, at this point..."
Damien and Hastings exchanged a smirk, "When have I ever listened to them? Hook me up."
Hastings nodded and lowered the helmet. There was a hum as the machine turned on, followed by a shooting pain that ran throughout his body. He let out a confused gasp.
“I’m sorry about this Young Master,” Hasting’s said, and Damien could see a cruel smile on the man’s face through the helmet’s visor as the game had yet to finish starting. The pain in his stomach increased tenfold. Glancing down, Damien saw Hastings had plunged a kitchen knife into his stomach.
“As it’s your eighteenth birthday tomorrow, which is a problem. You would have become the legal heir to the family.” The man shook his head as he withdrew the bloodstained knife, “Kieran send’s his regards.”
Damien tried to call out, but his vision ceased and all-consuming darkness devoured him.
***
No man can step in the same river twice, for it is not the same river and he is not the same man.
***
Damien was shocked awake as air filled his lungs. Taking a deep breath, he blinked away the stars and the words that had accompanied him in the void. A wave of nausea followed, accompanied by the monster of all headaches that assaulted him. His throat felt parched as if he was a lost man in an endless desert. He struggled to string coherent lines of thought as his mind seemed chaotic; memories crashed and merged. Some he recognized, but others were foreign.
Vivid images of endless caves filled with pale-faced humanoids committing the most heinous acts consumed his mind and furthered his relentless nausea. It was as if two souls were competing for the same body, but instead of one winning, they were merging into one.
Damien managed to get his breathing under control and squinted while observing his surroundings.
This isn’t the hospital…
For one, his bed was massive, easily three persons wide. The cushions were rather stiff, and the hefty duvet weighed down his body. Four posts held up a grand canopy overhead, giving him a sense of majesty.
Streaks of sunlight slipped through half-drawn curtains and dimly illuminated the room's pale green walls. The room gave Damien a noble vibe from the Middle Ages. It was different from the bright white and clean hospital room in every way possible.
Though despite its grand appearance, the bedroom was surprisingly empty. In the far corner near the window, there was only a mahogany writing desk with a stack of crudely made paper and a golden pocket watch on its surface.
Damien froze as panic finally set in.
I died. Hastings killed me—the one person I thought I could trust in the world, my one and only friend killed me. He had a knife and twisted it in my stomach. I died. Is this the afterlife? Where am I?
His senses and mind accelerated as he frantically looked around. He recognized this room and the pocket watch.
A terrible thought crossed his mind as he looked at his arms.
Muscular, nothing like his own twig-like arms. Briefly removing the white gloves, he observed his hands, which ended with long black nails that shone in the sunlight, showing their dangerously sharp edges. He'd seen these hands before, but never in such detail.
"All of this belongs to Damien Nightshade, the villain character I had been playing before I died," he muttered under his breath as he inspected his new body. His face…he needed to see his face to confirm his suspicions. His gaze landed on the gold-plated pocket watch, silently resting on the writing desk.
Due to the habit of being bedbound, the idea of standing up and walking over to the desk eluded him, and he instead squinted intensely at the pocket watch as if trying to gleam any insights from it.
A warm feeling ran through his body toward his mind, and then it moved.
The pocket watch wobbled slightly from side to side.
Damien felt a connection with the pocket watch as if he wielded an invisible hand and could pick it up. His headache worsened, and his dry throat caused him to swallow his saliva, but he ignored his body's protests. Guided by the muscle memory his new body seemed to possess, he pressed forward.
It wobbled across the table until it reached the edge. With a final push, it tumbled off the side. Damien gritted his teeth as he didn’t allow the pocket watch to fall and instead suspended it in the air with his mind. Something impossible on Earth, further confirming Damien's suspicions.
The pocket watch slowly floated through the air. Damien felt awful, sweat accumulating on his forehead, but his objective was complete.
Damien Nightshade's signature pocket watch lay in his foreign hand—the cold, smooth surface of the metal and sensory information were too realistic to replicate in VR. Not to mention the lack of an interface such as health bars, inventory slots, or even the map that usually sat in the top right of his vision.
Did I die and the game became my reality?
Snapping open the pocket watch with a click, he looked at the small mirror nestled inside the lid.
A devilishly handsome face stared back, with short white hair lightly falling over his fierce red eyes. He looked like a noble vampire with his defined jawline, elongated ears like an elf and pale white skin. Far too realistic for VR graphics, he could even easily control every joint in his face, something impossible with current VR technology.
While pulling various faces, he inspected every detail with intense scrutiny and raised a brow as golden words suddenly appeared on the mirror's surface.
[Damien Nightshade]
[Noble Vampire]
Schools Of Magic:
[Psychic Magic (D)]
Psychokinesis [D]
Pyrokinesis [E]
[Blood Magic (F)]
=Null Spells=
Mana Control [F]
Traits:
[Germaphobe] Unable to learn melee skills / 100% Increased control over ranged spells.
[Control Freak] Increased affinity to control skills by 10%
[Lazy] Increased mana regeneration while resting by 20% / Increased exp to learn new spells by 10%
[Concentration] Increased affinity with mental spells by 5%
[Noble Aura] Intimidation increased.
Damien read the text quickly, his heart rate threatening to go out of control from a mixture of anxiety and excitement. It was unbelievable, but he had somehow transmigrated into his favorite game, which he knew much about.
Okay, calm down and think. The VR game has become real somehow, and it doesn't look like I can log out. Other than the words floating in this pocket watch and my earlier use of magic, it would be impossible to tell this was different from Earth.
His mood quickly dampened as the implications of his situation set in. He was no longer on Earth but instead in a world set in the Middle Ages where monsters and magic ruled supreme, and everyone else was mere food.
Damien Nightshade was a notoriously difficult character to complete the storyline with due to his pitifully weak start and death flags hiding around every corner. Not to mention the hidden status effect 'A Villain's Fate' that practically guaranteed his death.
Looking back at the majestically crafted pocket watch, Damien observed the lower half that displayed the date and time in an analog fashion.
9:10 am January 1st, 1520
From what I remember, the game's official storyline begins in 1521, a year from now.
The bedroom door creaked open, and a fully naked woman with raven black hair and ocean-blue eyes wandered in as if she owned the place. Damien looked up from the pocket watch, and when their gazes met, her eyes widened in surprise like a cat caught stealing food. "M-master, you have been sleeping for days!"
Master? Damien's eyes widened. Hold on, is that Fay? He knew this character from the game.
Fay hastily walked over under his analyzing gaze, leaving a trail of water droplets on the stone floor. Laying down beside Damien, curled her raven black hair behind her ear, exposing her slender, pale neck. "You must be thirsty… Please, drink."
While Damien was incredibly thirsty, he had far too many questions to ask. However, as he opened his mouth to talk, the thirst transitioned into a primal hunger that overwhelmed every sense. His stomach became ravenous, and his mind clouded. Weirdest of all, he could somehow smell the blood pumping below the surface of her delicate skin.
An urge like no other to devour the weak surged through his mind as his inhuman fangs descended and cut his bottom lip. The woman's eyes trembled slightly but stayed put, with her neck exposed.
Without being able to resist, Damien's jaw unhinged like a snake, and his body lunged forward. His fangs skillfully pierced her vein as if he had done this every day of his life, and blood began pumping through his teeth and into his mouth. Like a dehydrated fool who discovered an oasis of spring water in the middle of the Sahara desert, Damien gulped down the delicious nectar of life. He kept going until the woman fell limp in his embrace.
The sudden weight pressing against him broke his trance.
What the hell am I doing?! He had never even felt the touch of another woman's neck, let alone bitten into it! Oh god, I'm so sorry.
Damien quickly unlatched his fangs from the woman and felt them retract into his gums. He then carefully lowered the woman beside him.
Two small holes were left on her neck which oozed blood, dyeing the white sheets below. Damien subconsciously swallowed his saliva. A foreign sense of utter disgust overcame him as if he had just bitten into a pig and drunk its shit. He could feel the foreign blood traveling through his body like slime, and it made him want to vomit.
But he managed to ignore all that and focus on checking if the poor woman was still alive.
Please be fine. I don't want to have killed someone minutes into my new life.
She was deathly pale and breathing shallowly but seemed alive, just passed out.
Okay, good. She's still alive. Thank the gods… assuming they exist. Who else could trap me in this hellish world otherwise?
Despite the evidence that the woman had just showered, he still felt disgusted from touching her, so he subconsciously pulled out a white handkerchief and gracefully dusted off his shoulder where she had been leaning moments earlier. His hand paused, and he looked at the handkerchief in bafflement.
Why am I doing this?
Recalling the information displayed on the pocket watch, the answer became clear.
It's that darn [Germaphobe] trait. Isn't it? He let out a sigh. While it seemed he had somehow won the battle with Damien Nightshade's soul to take primary control over the body, the hardcoded traits of the game character still remained.
I'm going to have to get used to this. I refuse to let the freak whose body this was control me. Despite how doomed my situation seems, this is still a second chance at life.
With the thirst, hunger, and headache gone, a sense of fatigue overtook his body. Was his body actually tired, or was his [Lazy] trait acting up? Damien laid back down and cursed in his mind.
In a game where the player can enjoy the storyline of any character, from the Emperor of Oshal to a street rat of Kassinki, I just had to transmigrate into the body of pitiful third-rate villain fated to die.
Yet he couldn't help but grin.
After all, if this world followed the game Throne and Awakening as he hoped, it meant he knew what the future had in store. Who to befriend, where rare items spawned, and, most importantly, how to turn this shitty character into one that could not only survive, but perhaps even thrive.
