Young Master's PoV: Woke Up As A Villain In A Game One Day

The world was collapsing into oblivion.

Everything was being devoured by the oppressing darkness of the Spirit Realm… and there was no escape.

Yet, the brave heroes fought on.

It was their fate.

To die fighting.

And die they did.

The War of Heaven's Path was officially lost.

"It… it's impossible," a woman whispered, falling to her knees.

Her azure eyes were slowly losing their luster, and her snowy white hair stuck to her damp, bloodied face.

There was a gaping hole in her chest where her heart should've been, and she was also missing her right arm.

Her radiant golden armor was now shattered, dented, and stained with blood at places. Her once flawless pale skin was marred by bruises and scars.

All around her, the world was on fire, slowly being erased from existence by the black flames of hell.

All her allies lay dead. Her commander was dead, too. The people she loved, her childhood friends, her found family…

Everyone was gone.

Dead.

On this battlefield that was forsaken even by the gods, only she was still alive.

Then, in an instant, someone appeared before her. Too fast for her to notice and too powerful for her to resist.

She looked up, her teeth grinding in helpless rage. She wanted to scream a curse, but the strength had fled her body long ago.

Before her stood a tall man.

…Only he wasn't a man.

His skin was unnaturally white, and two dark crystalline horns jutted from his temples, curving around his skull like some sort of a divine crown.

He donned an armor so dark that it absorbed the very light around him, casting a shadow over all those who dared to step too close to him.

Massive bat-like wings unfurled from his back, their leathery expanse as ghostly white as his skin. Long flaxen hair fell down to his waist, flowing like molten gold.

His eyes, burning like twin incandescent suns with black slit pupils at their center, bore down upon the woman.

He looked like a wrathful god gazing down upon sinners from the heavens.

This was the man… the creature… who had done it.

Done the impossible.

He had defeated humanity. He had crushed the Monarchs. And, most importantly, he had killed all those who were Destined.

He was the Tenth Demon Prince.

The strongest of all the Defiled Ones.

The Bastard Son of the False God.

He was the Herald of Oldest Death.

"It's over. End your pitiful struggle," the creature declared as if issuing like a divine decree. His voice held a powerful authority that compelled anyone listening to him to bow in reverence. "You have lost."

He clenched his fists, and for a moment, he managed to look almost… sorrowful.

"If only you had been a little stronger," he then murmured, his whisper heavy with solemnity.

He spoke in a tone similar to a man who was forced to crush a pestering bug daring to block the path he was walking.

Killing a creature so insignificant should barely warrant his attention.

You wouldn't feel sad for stepping on a colony of ants, would you?

And yet, he felt a twinge of regret for taking so many lives, no matter how trivial.

Pity. That was the emotion. Not sadness, not irritation – he just felt pity.

The woman in front of him finally found the strength to let out a trembling voice. "Tr-Traitor… You damn traitor!"

But the Demon Prince had already lost any interest in her.

He snapped his fingers, and the white-haired warrioress burst into black flames, erased from existence in an instant.

What followed was a long stretch of forlorn silence.

Then…

"...Y-You couldn't live with your own failure, could you?"

All of a sudden, the Tenth Prince heard another voice, weak and frail, as if it belonged to a woman on the brink of death.

He turned sharply and narrowed his eyes in surprise. There was another woman laying a few feet away from him on the ravaged battlefield, half-buried beneath the corpses of her people.

"Someone else survived?" The Demon Prince raised an eyebrow, a mix of shock and curiosity clearly written on his profanely beautiful face.

That woman had long ash-blonde hair that must've looked graceful once. Now it was singed and disheveled.

Buried beneath a mountain of corpses, it was hard to discern her full frame, but she must've been tall and lithe.

Now her body was broken and battered.

Her eyes, a haunting shade of violet, had lost their gleam. Yet, they fixed on the Demon Prince with a strange intensity.

But there was something else… something on her forehead.

…A third eye.

A translucent third eye made of pure spectral energy. It was an ethereal construct capable of gazing beyond the fickle veil of reality.

She was the bearer of the Goddess' Eye.

Ah, now it made sense how she survived.

She was one of the Destined. The last one, in fact.

"...Your past must haunt you," she rasped, her voice strained and exhausted. "And your future is even bleaker. I pity you."

"Pity? Me?" The Demon Prince almost laughed, incredulous. "Have you lost your mind, mortal? I have no idea what you're talking about."

But she ignored him and continued speaking:

"Your quest to become a god… is it not just an empty promise of destiny? You've been deceived and betrayed before. Why then, against better judgment, would you try to trespass into the realm of the Gods?"

The Demon Prince was genuinely perplexed now.

What was she talking about? Had she truly lost her sanity before she could lose her life?

He shook his head, raising his hand to erase her existence with a single snap.

"I see then," she sighed, not even caring about her impending death. "So be it. I will tell you your fate…"

The woman drew a final breath, gathering every ounce of willpower left in her battered body… to divine her last prophecy in a hoarse, grating voice:

"In shadowed womb, a cursed one born, His heart, by vengeance, forever torn.

Bound by a deal, twisted and grim, He walked the paths where stars grew dim.

From realms of sorrow, he sought to flee, Memory lost to Eternity's Sea.

But fate shall draw him back once more, To tread the steps he's walked before.

In nameless guise, he'll play the role, Unknowing of his fractured soul.

And when the threads of fate convene, A choice shall shape the end of dreams.

A Villain's path or a Hero's grace? One soul to conquer time and space.

Once a dark heart, now the world's last breath, To bring eternal rebirth… or endless death."

The Prince was bewildered. Utterly speechless.

Why was this woman prophesying now?

And what did it mean?

She said she'd tell him his fate, but he hadn't asked for it!

He knew the holder of the Goddess' Eye was a sibyl.

A fabled soothsayer.

But was this really the right time to be spouting prophecies? On the edge of death?

And why do all the great seers utter prophecies in a convoluted, nonsensical poetic way?! Why could they just not speak normally?!

In the next instant, the Demon Prince snapped his fingers, and she ceased to exist as well, the black flames leaving not even ashes behind.

"Weird woman," he muttered before flapping his majestic wings and flying away in a blur.

It was over.

The Monarchs were dead, the heroes vanquished, and even the Gods had abandoned this world to hide behind Heaven's Gates.

The One Who Was had won.

Now… it was time to conquer the Kingdom of Gods.