Evil Villain reader that is more of a recluse than anything, especially now in the modern era. You dont want to interact with the world outside your evil domain, its too bright, the overtly saturated colors of the world hurting your eyes. It was too loud, the happy chirping of birds, couples that were too happy together laughing, the squeal of a child experiencing the wonders of the world.
That's why you created your domain, its muted and muddled colors calmed and steadied your mind. Kept it sharp and made it easier to spot heroes sporting bright blues, reds, greens and yellows. You put extra care in making sure that it was in constant fog so that the wonderfully depressive mood never left you.
You made sure that your domain was quiet. No sign of life besides the undead creatures you decided to reanimate and create. You adored their sounds, the strangled intake of air into their decaying lungs (don't worry, they don't need air, they just like it) was to you as a kitten's purr was to others. The sounds of chittering and scuttering of the large arachnid like creatures you created warmed your heart, because for you it was like hearing a baby's laugh.
The pride you felt in seeing your abominations walking around and moving amongst the fog, conversing and playing with the other creatures was comparable to a parent watching thier child graduate.
Yes, your domain was perfect.
At least it was until those... things came.
"Heroic" children at that.
They didn't know that they were nothing but sacrifices.
They didn't know that their gods and rulers did not care for them.
You remember when the first one was sent to slay you, it was many years ago -back when kings and queens ruled and magic was well known. Back when gods sent thier "chosen one" heroes to be slaughtered by forces they viewed as "evil"- when they first invaded your paradise.
You never understood why they would always come into your domain and attempt (feebly) to slay you. You didn't understand why they felt so comfortable slaying your precious minions, but would hesitate when it came to the woodland creatures just outside your domain.
It wasn't like your domain was leaking into their kingdom, you didn't 'steal' the land from any kingdom, being older than all of them combined, so why was it that these rulers and gods kept sending you their infantile "best"?
It made no sense to hate them.
They were children doing what they thought was right, doing what they thought would make their elders proud and happy, it reminded you of when you created your first henchcreature, a dryad of a rafflesia arnoldii.
Weak, but eager to make you happy.
That eagerness was what drove them to your domain. That eagerness was what caused the slaughter of so many of your monstrous creations.
You hated what they did to what made you happy.
So, you began your journey as a villain.
Did you kill the children? No.
All you had to do was use your magic to send them back to their homes. Back to the little cottages, castles and city streets they longed to.
You don't kill children, but you do kill the ones who send them.
You softly place your palm over the worn out eyes of the elder that trained the little heroes, whispering softly to them to not fight their fate. Reassuring them that by your hands, they will feel fear for the very last time as you plunge your dagger deep into their heart, holding them firmly as they drew their last breath.
You would lay them down onto their bed, making sure their eyes were closed before you left them. The mentor might've filled the children's heads with false promises of glory, but you knew they were once eager too.
You smile as your loyal minions sink thier teeth into the fool that was mistaken as a true oracle, satisfaction filling your blackened heart hearing how the fool's screams and pleads for mercy right before your loyal and lovely mymic bite into their neck, ripping out the fool's larynx.
You didn't feel the same sympathy for the false seer that you did for the mentors. Why should you? Their false prophecies lead to the kingdoms sending lambs in the vein hope that they could slaughter you.
Their false prophecies are what lead you to retaliation.
What lead them to their death.
Why cry for the moth that willingly flew into the fire's flames?
You hummed a quiet lullaby as you walked down the grand and opulent halls of the castle that housed the royals that came from near and far to discuss ways to destroy you, with the heel of your boots making a satisfying clik sound with each steady step you took.
The guards tasked with protecting the royal's lives with their own fast asleep thanks to the magik within the lullaby. They did not deserve your wrath.
As you walked down the hallways, your loyal minions following behind you as if you were their savior leading them to their salvation, you couldn't help but think about how it was sort of comical.
The gilded walls amused you. It amused you how the gold gilded walls gleamed magnificently even in the dark of the hallway of the imposing stone structure, with the only light being the lanterns that lined the walls along with the waning crecent moon peaking through the grand windows to illuminate them, giving the hallways a almost romantic atmophere as the golden gild reflected the light.
However, you could smell the rot that laid underneath.
You could smell the wood that the gold clung to rotting away underneath, slowly molding and slittering beneath the golden and painted grandeur. You could smell the blood, sweat and decay of the prisoners that rested in the dungeons beneath the golden facade of the grand and regal structure, thier pained groans, diseased filled breathing and choked cries not unheared by you.
A home reflects its owners.
This home was desperately trying to hide its rot, just like how its owners were trying to hide how panicked and afraid they were.
Here they were, the greatest in all the land, hand picked by the divine themselves with their noble bloodlines, huddled together within a room, exchanging words that were as confident as fools gold at a bank.
They're afraid of the mess they created and of the 'villain' that they sought to destroy before 'something' could happen, guided by false seers and gods that did not care for their well being, only their own amusement.
As you reached the doors to the room that held the most 'noble' of the continent.
You hummed as you opened the wide, letting the inhabitant's look upon you and your beloved monsters, who stared back with hungry eyes and snarling maws.
The noble in tyrian purple robes asked, wanting to know what sin they could've possibly committed to be condemned by you and your monsters.
"We did nothing to you.."
You tilted your head, astonished at the arrogant words of the noble.
"You sent children to do what you can't... I'm doing this to show what happens when you sent me children."
With a snap of your fingers, your blood soaked message was sent for all of the world to hear.
You looked up from your book, zoning in on the sound of footsteps and the smell of ciggerettes that drifted down the hallway into your sitting room.
"I don't recall inviting you into my home, warlock."
You called out, placing a bookmark between the pages of the book you were reading before placing it on the levitating, silver platter.
"I thought I'd drop by for a surprise visit, love," the sandy blond man spoke with his thick scouse accent as he entered the room where you sat.
"I don't like surprises," you deadpanned as you summoned two glasses and a bottle of scotch with a flick of your wrist. You poured him a glass and held it out to the Brit with the cynical eyes, waiting for him patiently to take the glass and a seat.
You didn't like it when he visited, it always meant trouble.
After all, him visiting you is the reason why you are unable to leave your domain now.
He took the glass from your hand and sat down on the loveseat across from you, letting his body relax for a brief moment before he took a sip of the scotch, letting out a satisfied sigh afterwards.
"I especially don't like surprise company, Constantine."
