Rain fell like static across the city.
It was the kind that blurred streetlights into watercolor, that made even the living look half-erased.
Lucien sat beneath a flickering sign that read "Open 24 Hours," though nothing inside the convenience store ever truly changed — the same stale bread, the same clerk with eyes like glass, the same hum of the refrigerator that drowned out thought.
He wasn't really there to buy anything.
He was there because it was bright enough to remind him the world still pretended to care.
A light novel lay open on his lap, its pages curled by humidity. The cover showed a grinning hero with a sword, flames coiling behind him. The tagline said:
"Even in despair, the protagonist never gives up."
Lucien smirked. "Yeah, because the author won't let him."
He'd read hundreds of stories like it — orphan heroes, convenient mentors, last-minute awakenings. They always started in tragedy, but only enough to make the victory feel deserved. Every wound healed, every failure turned to foreshadowing. No randomness, no cruelty, no meaningless loss.
That was the difference between fiction and life — life didn't wait for your redemption arc.
He closed the book and stared at his reflection in the store's window. Raindrops distorted his face into something pale
A tired college dropout. An invisible background character.
Someone who lived, consumed, and forgot.
He whispered, "If I were in a story, I'd be the villain."
A low chuckle escaped him — half-mockery, half-wish.
Then, the world answered.
The reflection smiled back.
---
The sound came first — a faint click, like a pen being uncapped. The window rippled, and text began to bleed across the glass — glowing, curling letters written by some unseen hand.
You have been chosen, Reader.
Do you wish to begin your story?
Lucien blinked. "What—"
The words rearranged themselves.
Warning ! : Role — VILLAIN.
Fate: DEATH.
Confirm?
Something inside him twitched — not fear, but recognition. The absurdity of it all felt scripted, like the kind of over-dramatic opening he'd mocked countless times before.
He laughed. "Sure. Why not. At least villains get to speak the truth."
The moment the words left his lips, the window shattered inward. Shards froze mid-air, suspended in the pulse of white light that swallowed him whole.
---
He expected pain. Instead, there was silence — vast, infinite, suffocating.
Lucien floated in darkness, weightless.
Words drifted around him like fireflies — fragments of dialogue, descriptions, names he didn't know.
The hero draws his sword.
The kingdom burns.
The villain falls.
A whisper threaded through the void — feminine, calm, and cruel.
"You wished to enter the story, didn't you?"
Lucien turned. A figure emerged from the dark — a woman of light and parchment, her hair made of flowing script, her eyes twin quills of gold.
"Who are you?" he asked.
She smiled. "I am Elyra. The Author of all worlds."
Her voice was beautiful in the way thunderstorms are — perfect, inevitable, merciless.
"You've mocked my children long enough, little Reader," she said. "You've laughed at their pain, doubted their worth. So now, I'll let you see what it truly means to live inside a story."
He tried to move, but his limbs dissolved into streams of letters. His body was being rewritten.
"Wait—!"
Initializing Character Role: The Fallen One
Fate Locked: Death by Hero's Blade
Lucien screamed, but no sound came — only blood poured from his mouth. His memories cracked, flooding with images — castles, fire, blades, prayers. The modern world burned away like paper.
Elyra's eyes narrowed.
"Welcome to your true beginning, Villain."
---
When he woke, he was lying in the middle of a battlefield.
The sky above him churned with clouds the color of bruises. Bodies littered the ground — soldiers in silver armor, banners torn and blood-stained. The air stank of iron and smoke.
Lucien pushed himself up, dazed. His hands weren't his. They were scarred, calloused, and trembling with power.
Fragments of memory slid into place — the Empire of Light, the Holy Hero, the rebellion that bore his name.
He was Lucien, Lord of the Legion of the Lost. The man destined to destroy the world — and die doing it.
Laughter echoed across the field.
A boy in radiant armor stood before him, sword gleaming like a sunrise.
"Lucien!" the boy shouted. "Your rebellion ends here!"
Lucien recognized him instantly — the protagonist.
Perfect face, tragic resolve, divine protection in every swing.
So this was it. His death scene. His role. His script.
He was supposed to charge forward, curse the gods, fall in noble defeat — all to make the hero shine brighter.
Lucien stared at the boy's glowing blade and felt a familiar disgust rise in his chest.
"No," he muttered.
The hero blinked. "What?"
Lucien smiled, and something inside him cracked open.
New Command Unlocked: REWRITE
Text bloomed before his eyes — translucent code written across the air. It described everything around him:
The Hero swings his sword.
The Villain fails to dodge.
The light consumes him.
Lucien reached into the words. The world rippled under his fingers.
"Let's edit that," he whispered.
The sentence shattered.
The hero's sword froze mid-strike — then turned to ash. His expression twisted from divine fury to human terror.
"What—what did you do?"
Lucien rose, his shadow stretching impossibly far. "I stopped following your story."
All around them, the battlefield began to flicker. The sky peeled back into static. The corpses rose, whispering half-erased prayers.
Elyra's voice thundered across the heavens:
"You cannot change what is written."
Lucien looked up, defiant.
"Watch me."
---
The light broke.
The story screamed.
And for the first time in any world, the villain refused to die.