GoldenStache

{Author Of Old-World Extra}
"All untainted paths lead to the one truth."
—
There was nothing special about my life... except for how I died.
I went out in the dumbest, most ridiculous way possible; even a dog’s death would’ve made for a better sight.
But hey, that wasn’t even the weird part. Not by a long shot. 
For whatever reason, my soul had gotten ripped out and shoved into the body of some "Villain" in a faraway land.
Yep, you heard that right. A clichéd "Villain." And I’ve got ten days before he’s publicly executed.
This guy—well, I—used to be a Beggar. 
One that grew into a Magi, then a Seeker, then a Professor, and then... 
A Sultan. 
The one ruler of the entire world.
Now? I’m stuck facing the people I used to love, ready to pay for all the “evil” I’ve done.
Fate seemed Hellbent on ending me no matter where I went, but just as I was about to give up...
A Script appeared before my mind’s eye.
{Would you like to witness your real history, your Path?}
{Would you like to make it past your Promised Day?}
{Would you like to become a True King?}
{If so, repeat after me…}
It gave me one word—ancient, powerful, and clear.
“BASSORĀH!”
Many paths came together.
Then, a projection appeared and it began to display... my memories? 
—
This is a story about suffering. Anger. And forgiveness. 

{Volume One, Remember Me: Complete}
{Volume Two, For Whom The Bell Tolls: Complete}
{Volume Three, When the Sparrow Falls: Complete}
{Volume Four, I Saw A Dream: Ongoing}

Extra Tags: Drama, Reaction, Misunderstanding, Transmigration. Time Travel.

Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death

{Outside The Projection}

The moment the projection froze, the hall exploded into noise.

"No, seriously, what the fuck was that?!"

"His head, man. His fucking head rolled off like a—like a—"

"...What the fuck did we just watch?"

"Ya'll never heard of him before?"

An older man asked, shaking his head.

"You from the upper district or somethin'?"

A rough voice cut through the noise.

It was a middle-aged man with a thick beard, his scowl deep, standing not so far from Safira.

His green robes marked him as someone from one of the three main religious militias, Nasir Al-Sultan.

"That fucking statue... is one of the Twelve Great Ones."

The murmuring stilled. Heads turned.

Having Fun