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

{Inside The Projection}

Morning came with the kind of crisp air that made Malik almost consider staying in bed a little longer. It was the first time he had the luxury to feel that, but he wasn't the type to laze around, and the road was calling.

He got up, stretched, and went to take a bath, stripping off his—

Malik stared at his reflection in the small mirror, something he hadn't done in ages.

The man looking back at him was a stranger. Not just the build—lean muscle where there was once nothing—but his face too.

Golden eyes studied him with an intensity he barely recognized. His long golden hair, reaching down to his neck, framed a face that could be called handsome, a world of difference from before.

He stood a little taller than most, another change, another reminder of how far he'd come.

Father... I Love You