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

Malik had failed to protect him. Protect her.

...He didn't know exactly what happened after that.

He likely didn't even bother saving Layla.

But he knew one thing that happened.

A blood-drenched, bone-deep rage had consumed him.

His breath shook. His vision swam. The world twisted, narrowed, darkened.

The pain in his shoulder, in his back, and the burning in his thigh—it didn't matter anymore.

They should've known not to kill Ali Baba. They should've known not to touch his people.

Great was the rage of a quiet man.

A bandit came at him, blade raised.

Malik caught the sword with his left hand.

Steel bit into his palm, splitting flesh to the bone. But he didn't seem to register it.

With a yank, he tore the weapon from the man's grip and smashed his forehead into his nose.

How Could I?