I am the villain

David stepped into the garden, the cool night air brushing against his skin as he sat beneath the ancient oak tree. The stars above twinkled like distant ghosts, and the wind carried whispers through the branches. The world around him pulsed with an eerie stillness, as if nature itself held its breath. His body ached with exhaustion, yet his mind refused to quiet. He surrendered to sleep, slumping against the rough bark, his breaths slow and unsteady.

The world shifted.

The whispering wind turned into something more sinister, a chorus of murmurs slithering through the darkness. The air thickened, suffocating, pressing against him like invisible hands. A strange chill crept over his skin, deeper than the cold night air. It was not the gentle embrace of sleep, but the invasive grasp of something watching, waiting.

Then, from the abyss of his mind, voices crawled into his ears.

"Why did you kill us?"

The words were like knives, twisting into his consciousness. David twitched, his fingers curling into the damp soil. His eyelids trembled, yet he refused to open them. If he did, he knew he would see something he could never unsee.

"What did we do to you?"

The voices overlapped, merging into a cacophony of sorrow and rage. They weren't mere whispers anymore; they were screams, sobs, accusations that clawed at his soul. The weight of their grief pressed upon his chest, tightening around his heart like chains of ice. It was unbearable, suffocating.

Slowly, unwillingly, he opened his eyes.

Nothing.

A void of absolute darkness stretched before him, devouring everything. His orphanage—gone. His home—erased. Ruby. Jessica. The children. All absent, as though they had never existed. Yet their pain remained, lingering in the air like the stench of rotting flesh.

He staggered forward, each step swallowed by silence. The ground beneath him felt unstable, as if he were walking on a thin veil of reality, one wrong move away from plummeting into oblivion. His breath came in ragged bursts as a headache pulsed behind his eyes, deep and gnawing. The voices did not cease; they multiplied, whispering, wailing, shrieking.

"Why did you kill us?"

David groaned, pressing his palms against his temples. The cacophony of a thousand souls scraped against his skull, twisting his vision into a blur of shadows and phantom faces. His steps became unstable, his body swaying like a man drunk on madness.

Then, the orphanage reappeared.

A monstrous river of blood seeped from beneath the door, thick and endless. The scent of iron, putrid and suffocating, invaded his lungs. The walls pulsed, breathing in slow, grotesque rhythms. Shadows twisted and coiled along the corridors like living entities, hungry and restless. His hand trembled as he reached for the handle, his fingers slick with sweat.

The door creaked open, revealing a nightmare.

The children lay in their beds, their bodies twisted at unnatural angles, their vacant eyes staring into the abyss. The silence screamed louder than any words. Flesh hung loosely from their bones, gaping wounds exposing raw muscle and shattered ribs. The walls were drenched in crimson, dripping, pulsating, alive.

His gaze fell upon a small, motionless form.

Ruby.

Her delicate frame was drenched in blood, her youthful face frozen in eternal sorrow. Something inside David cracked. He wanted to scream, but no sound escaped his lips. Instead, he knelt beside her, his fingers brushing against her cold, lifeless cheek.

Then—her hand shot up.

Like a corpse dragged from the depths of hell, her fingers latched onto his wrist, an icy grip that sent a shiver of terror through his spine. Her lips parted, and from her throat came a voice layered with anguish.

"Why did you do this?"

David recoiled, his mind reeling. He tried to pull away, but she wouldn't let go. Her grip tightened, her nails digging into his flesh, breaking the skin. Blood oozed from the wounds, mixing with the filth staining her fingers.

"Was I not important to you?" Ruby's voice cracked with grief, her lifeless eyes boring into his soul.

Then, the vision struck.

David saw himself in a blood-drenched battlefield, towering over gods, his seven wives, and twenty heroes—dead at his feet. He laughed, a hollow, manic sound that echoed through the ruined world. Ruby was no longer a child. She stood before him, twenty years old, her eyes filled with sorrow, not hatred.

And then he thrust his sword into her chest.

Blood bubbled from her lips, but she did not resist. Instead, she smiled—a broken, tragic smile.

"I still respect and love you, Master."

Her body fell limp in his arms, the warmth fading. David clutched her tightly, sobbing and laughing in the same breath. The air thickened with decay, the battlefield crumbling into dust beneath his feet.

The vision dissolved, dragging him back to the orphanage. The corpses of the children convulsed, their lifeless bodies awakening. They crawled toward him, their hollow eyes brimming with unspeakable grief. Their limbs twitched unnaturally, their jaws snapping open and closed in grotesque, silent screams.

"Why did you kill us?"

The words clawed at his soul as hundreds, thousands of tiny hands latched onto him. He thrashed, but there was no escape. The floor beneath him crumbled, and he plummeted into the abyss.

Darkness swallowed him whole.

He landed in a ruined kingdom, its structures decayed and lifeless. A rotting stench clung to the air, and before him stood an army of the dead—thousands upon thousands of corpses, their skin peeling, their eyes vacant.

"Why?"

The question repeated endlessly, their voices blending into a monstrous wail.

David did not move. He did not scream. Silent tears streamed down his face.

Then, they charged.

A wave of decayed bodies rushed toward him, their broken hands reaching, their mouths opening in silent agony. He spread his arms wide, welcoming his fate, inviting their wrath.

They consumed him. They tore at his flesh, their nails digging deep, their teeth sinking into his skin.

"You monster! You devil! You killed my son! My wife! My daughter!"

Each accusation burned, carving itself into his soul. Their rage became his burden, their grief his torment.

And then—

Silence.

He opened his eyes and found himself beneath the oak tree once more. The night was undisturbed. The wind whispered through the leaves, and the moon cast its cold glow upon the world.

David exhaled shakily, his body drenched in sweat. He lifted his gaze to the sea, its surface reflecting the silver light of the moon. Yet, to his eyes, the water was not blue. It was red—a sea of blood, filled with floating corpses.

His lips curled into a bitter smile.

"I will be both the protagonist and the antagonist of this world."

His voice was steady, resolute.

"I shall take my revenge, no matter who stands in my way. Even if it is someone I love."

As the night deepened, the wind carried his words into the void, a promise made to the ghosts of his past.

He was not a hero. He was not a savior.

He was the villain.

And he would see his sins through to the end.