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[Villain] Chapter 72: The Five-Fanged Purple Eye
🕑 Added 2025-04-22 11:58:05 +0000 UTCA man sat with his knees huddled to his chest and his back resting against a gray stone battlement. A large-brimmed hat covered his eyes and protected his face from the freezing rain and howling winds. A symbolic red-eye with three fangs below, haphazardly sewn onto his clothes, signified his status as an Overseer for Duke Nightshade. His job? To valiantly protect the walls and Blackthorn from outside threats while also observing for potential suspicious individuals or those slacking off from work.
“Think of the gold coin…think of the gold coin. Payday is tomorrow,” he muttered like a trance while blowing lungfuls of air onto his frostbitten hands in a futile attempt to warm them.
Blackthorn surprisingly had a stone wall, a league above other towns and villages, but it was crude at best. There were no watchtowers or places to get respite from the rain. The occasional stone block along the top of the wall provided some cover from enemy fire but none for the downpour that seemed to come from all directions.
A sudden cry of thunder and flash of white far too close for comfort startled the man while illuminated his features hidden beneath the hat.
“Yo, Dave!” a voice shouted out through the roaring rain. The man slightly turned his head and caught a glimpse of the newcomer’s shoes.
Only Ben would be insane enough to wear sandals in this weather, Dave thought. “Ben?” he shouted toward the stone floor as he refused to look up and received a face full of rain.
Ben couldn’t hear a damn thing over the relentless wind. He shouted toward the sitting man while tightly clutching his patched robe to stop it from flying away. “I think we have incoming! Take a look at all these lights!”
Dave let out a deep chuckle, causing his shoulders to tremble. “What bastards would be insane enough to travel in this weather? It’s been a whole week since the rain began!” Yet despite his protests of the impossibility of such visitors, he sluggishly pushed himself off the floor and peered over the battlement. “No fucking way.” Dave gawked at the sight; within the hazy rainfall was a line of lights that had to stretch for a mile long, like a sparkling snake in the darkness.
Dave exhaled foggy breaths as his anxiety increased. The lights in the distance were worrying enough, but there was something else traveling through the storm.
“Oi, Ben, look to the southwest.”
Dave watched Ben squinting in the wrong direction.
“Look this way, you idiot,” Dave barked and pointed toward a small light in the darkness.
Ben followed his finger and gasped, “Another one?” Although the light didn’t go on for miles like the other, it did signify a moving convoy.
Feeling the chilly rain running down his arm, Dave quickly lowered his hand with a hiss. “Ring the bell,” he commanded his subordinate.
Ben nodded and half turned before pausing. “Where is the bell?”
Dave grumbled and smacked the idiot. “And you questioned why I have three fangs, and you only have one? Foolish.”
The two men hurried toward a wooden ladder leaning against the wall; being careful not to fall, they descended and ran toward a wooden shack.
Dave cursed as his frostbitten hands made maneuvering the iron key into the keyhole a chore, much to Ben’s apparent amusement. Inside the simple shack was a sizeable cast-iron bell with a hanging metal ball.
Without delay, Dave grabbed the ball and swung it into the side of the bell before covering his ears. Unfortunately, Ben followed his actions a little too late and yelped as the ball slammed into the bell and made a distinct ringing noise.
Ben fell to the floor, covering his ears with a twisted expression, while Dave only winced from the sound. Once the ringing ended, Dave removed his hands and went for another round.
Before he could go for a third round, a woman wearing a black robe materialized in the corner of the room. Straight purple hair covered her eyes and nose, hiding her face.
Ben sluggishly glared at the woman and took a defensive stance, but Dave quickly raised his hand for him to back down. Instead, Dave wearily glanced at the symbolic purple eye with five fangs near the woman’s chest. Much like his own, it was outlined in a beautiful pink spider thread, said to be produced by the duke’s pets.
As this pink thread was unique and controlled by the duke, assuming this woman hadn’t stolen the clothes from someone else, its authenticity was undeniable.
Dave gulped; not only did the woman have two more fangs than him, but she also donned the purple eye, signifying her status as a Keeper of the Night, a direct subordinate to Duke Nightshade.
Dave had only seen the mayor and the woman the duke walked around wearing such a symbol before, but Randy made it abundantly clear a week ago when he received this job that anyone with more fangs than him or a purple eye should be respected.
“Overseer, what have you seen?” the keeper of the night demanded, causing the man’s blood to run cold.
“Snakes…lights. Wait, sorry.” Dave deeply inhaled to calm his nerves, and his whole body shook. “Lights on the horizon. Over a mile long. We saw another light to the southwest. Potential pincer attack.”
The keeper slowly nodded as if mocking his stuttered speech before vanishing into the shadows once more.
Dave brought a hand to his heart, felt the three fangs’ silky texture, and smiled. “Guess I’m not so useless after all.”
Ben laughed from beside him while patting his soaked clothes. “You made us look like idiots in front of her. Hahahaha. She won’t fuck you, mate. Why were you so nervous?”
Dave shrugged off Ben’s heavy-handed pats with a scowl. “You wouldn’t understand, Ben. When the duke’s butler sent me flying into the town gate…” He shuddered, and Ben gave him a concerned look. “His eyes. They were empty. When he deemed that I was a traitor, he saw me as nothing else than an obstacle. Something to be removed from his master’s path.”
Dave pulled up his left arm’s sleeve and showed the rotting flesh. “I tried to act valiantly in the face of oppression. I trusted in my training and strong body. But look at me now? A cripple.” He then pointed toward the shadows where the girl had vanished. “I fear nothing but the purple eye.”
***
A few days passed since Mary became Roselyn.
Damien looked over the top of his book at a cackling woman with abyssal eyes rolling around the floor. Dead bodies of criminals caught by the Overseers lay haphazardly around her alongside slashed vines leaking white sap.
Damien looked toward Thar, who was tinkering with a runic currency system. “Your girlfriend has gone insane again; unplug her.”
Thar took off his goggles and gave a tired look to Damien. “Master, she’s not my girlfriend…”
“Yeah, yeah. She attacks everyone else on sight but you. What a coincidence,” Damien responded without even glancing up from his book.
With a heavy sigh that filled the entire cavern, Thar wandered over toward Roselyn. The undead spiders stood in silence, and the mass of black vines slithered to the side.
Despite his claims, Thar lovingly placed his orc hand on Roselyn’s forehead and carefully removed the single vine connected to the rose on her head. The woman let out a shrill scream as her unfocused abyssal eyes returned to their usual hazel brown. She then slumped into the half orc’s embrace and fell asleep.
Thar frowned. “Are you sure connecting to that Necromancer’s spirit won’t turn her insane?”
Damien shook his head. “Either she overcomes the spirit and controls it or it devours her mind. Such is the risk of becoming an A-grade mage. Many die along the way or give in to their inner demons.”
The conversation halted, and Damien’s book snapped shut as a familiar figure appeared within the dark cavern.
“My lord.” Zero bowed toward Damien. “An Overseer reported sightings of two convoys approaching Blackthorn. One is a mile long while the other is smaller. The Overseer speculated that it may be a pincer attack.”
“So, the fabled Prince of Staedbergh has come bearing so many gifts. I am certain we will establish a wonderful partnership.” Damien then frowned. “But who could this second party be?”
Fay lay on a bed of pink spider silk with one of the furry creatures receiving head pats. Then, much to the spider’s disappointment, she placed it down before raising her hand and slowly counting her fingers. “Our enemies include Duke Henson, Prince August, your brother, the Yaeldrin Clan…”
“Yaeldrin Clan? I do not recall such a name.”
“That bitch Akna.” Fay retorted. “The stuck up half elf that tried to become your disciple.”
Damien chuckled at the memory and waved his hand. “She is unlikely to be a concern for now, but the other three are possible.” Standing up from his stone throne, Damien brushed off the dust. “Fay, when you lived in Oshal, did the name Kieran of House Ravenhall hailing from Staedbergh ever reach your ears?”
Fay scowled. “We met once.”
“Terrific!” Damien exclaimed as he began walking toward the surface. “Nothing like meeting old friends.”
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Marin Schmidt
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