Villain With A GOD-COMPLEX!

"Aaahhh!"

"Aaahhhhhh!"

"Aaahhhhhhhh!"

"Yez! Harder!"

In a vast chamber, the air filled with echoes of anguish as cries of pain from a courageous woman resounded.

"Yezzz! Harder!"

"Please harder!"

"Push harder, my lady."

Skilled midwives, their robes fluttering as they moved with purpose, surrounded her.

Their presence exuded an aura of unwavering support, lending strength to the labouring mother as she journeyed through the sacred process of bringing forth new life.

With unwavering dedication, they stood by her side, their hands intertwined with hers, offering solace amidst the tumultuous waves of pain.

The piercing cries of agony erupted from a woman who embodied a strength both fierce and untamed. She was none other than the Chieftess of the final vestiges of a barbarian tribe, resisting the sprawling dominion of the Hydra Empire.

Her face contorted in the throes of pain, her eyes aflame with a determination that refused to yield. The midwives' presence was both reverent and resolute.

They were not merely guiding the birth of a child but also safeguarding the legacy of a tribe that had chosen to live beyond the Hydra's stifling reach.

With hands that possessed the tenderness of a mother and the fortitude of a warrior, the midwives grasped the Chieftess's trembling hand, offering solace amidst the torrential waves of childbirth.

Her name was Scyl Reigns.

A warrior unparalleled in strength among the entire barbarian tribe. She stood as a resolute force, second only to her husband, the revered chieftain of the last bastion of barbarian might.

Outside the vast chamber, a figure of immense presence stood tall, casting a formidable shadow upon all who beheld him. The very air quivered in reverence, as if acknowledging the raw power that emanated from his being.

What struck the beholder most was the astonishing sight of his beard, which, on occasion, crackled with flashes of lightning—an absurd and yet awe-inspiring phenomenon.

This towering figure, standing at an imposing height of 6 feet and 5 inches, possessed a physique that spoke of countless battles fought and won. His body, encased in a suit of heavy armour, seemed almost an extension of his indomitable spirit. The armour bore the marks of war, a testament to the relentless conflicts that raged around them.

In a moment of spontaneity, a surge of energy sparked from the man's beard, a bolt of lightning unleashed without conscious effort. The crackling bolt struck the ground, leaving in its wake a small crater.

"Bolt!" The word was whispered in the wind, carried by the echoes of his untamed might.

"Yakarl!"

A shout came from behind the man.

"Yakarl!"

"YAKARL!!!"

The imposing man named Yakarl woke up from his momentary trance, was drawn to the commotion behind him, and looked back, where he could see several fallen individuals emitting a dark haze while their hair stood on end, defying gravity's gentle pull.

And then his gaze landed upon a woman who looked as fiery as the fire, and she was sitting on her buttocks and darting at him as if she would kill him at any moment.

Drapped in robes of ebony and crimson, the woman exuded an aura of enigmatic allure. The cloth, dark and alluring, whispered of ancient secrets; its touch was a reminder of the mysteries veiled within.

Her arms were bare, free from the confines of the robes. Adorning her wrists were bracelets of considerable size. Crafted from the same material as her earrings, these adornments bound her to a realm beyond the mundane, evoking whispers of ancient rituals and forgotten knowledge.

Yet it was her eyes that held a captivating intrigue, for they remained hidden from view, veiled by a cloth of secrecy.

Yakarl, unable to fathom the circumstances, scratched his head in a bemused manner, a quizzical expression adorning his face.

His voice, laced with puzzlement, reached out to the woman before him: "Shaman Marsa, why are you sitting on the ground?"

Shaman Marsa's anger swelled like a tempest, contorting her once beautiful features into a visage of raw fury. Her words, laced with venom, cut through the air with their sharpness, each insult landing on Yakarl like a barrage of arrows.

"You shitfuck!!"

"Shit beard!"

"Shitpoopyass face!"

...

There were many praises thrown at Yakarl, but he stood unperturbed as if these verbal assaults were nothing more than a familiar tune. After the Marsa cooled down a bit, he asked, trying to be as calm as he could be, "Why are you angry, shaman?"

"..."

Another round of praise was gifted, and then Marsa, calming herself down and clenching her fist, shouted, "You shitfuck! Can't you stay calm? Huh... h? Why the shitass are you throwing your bolts here and there? U tryin to kill me? U giving birth to a baby? Uh, are u giving birth to a baby? For heaven's sake! shitass!"

"And this shit-asshole calls himself the chief...hmh!"

"Cheif my ass!"

As the barrage of probing questions was launched, Yakarl could only scratch his head, and with a slightly flushed face, he said while lowering his head, "I'm a bit nervous.'

"..."

"..."

Shaman Marsa's eyes lingered upon Yakarl, the embodiment of strength and pride amongst the barbarian tribes.

How old was he?

Just 32, he stood as a testament to raw power and unyielding resolve; his name was whispered in hushed awe throughout the known kingdoms of the vast continent.

He had shouldered the weight of leadership, protecting his fellow barbarians from the relentless onslaught of the empire and navigating the turbulent aftermath following the passing of the tribe's previous chieftain.

And yet, a curious revelation began to unfold. Despite the countless battles fought and the countless lives entrusted to his care, Yakarl stood now, a portrait of nerves.

Yes! The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on Marsa. Here was a man of overwhelming might, whose very unconscious movements could fall adversaries like swatted flies. And yet, he was plagued by a flicker of apprehension.

What could possibly shake the foundation of one so formidable? What whispered fears and what silent doubts held sway over the heart of this fierce warrior? It was a question that demanded answers.

The answer was fairly easy because of how much he loved his wife, and hearing her screams of pain reverberating through the air stirred a symphony of emotions within Yakarl's soul.

-Love-

For the barbarians of the past, love had been but a common thread, woven amidst the tapestry of their lives.

But for the barbarians of the present, where the spectre of war loomed large, it was a rarity, a precious gem amidst the harsh realities they faced.

Yakarl had been fortunate enough to find solace in the arms of his beloved, and now, their child was poised to take its first breath in this turbulent world.

"Cheif! Cheif!"

Suddenly the door of the vast chamber opened, and a midwife came out running and hurriedly called for Yakarl.

Yakarl, hearing her words, turned around and quickly looked at the smelly and sweaty midwife, who had an elated expression.

"Cheif! The baby-!!!" Unable to complete her sentence in the mixture of emotions, she then pointed towards the chamber and said, "B-Boy!..."

"It's Boy!"

Not knowing how to react to this, Yakarl stood in a trance, his face changing into different symphonies of emotions in moments.

Marsa, who was on the ground, sat up quickly and looked at the idiot, who couldn't even move and couldn't daze himself out of his stupor.

Rubbing her hands together, she slapped the back of Yakarl and shouted, "Go inside!"

"Huh?!"

Untrapped from the delusion, Yakarl rushed towards the chamber.

Marsa looked at this, shook her head, and looked up.

"Mother Barkos, how could such an idiot have such strength?"

She then walked towards the chamber.

The midwife left alone in the corridor looked at the fainted individuals on the ground, and for a moment she didn't understand, but soon she sat on the ground and shook her head, a smile on her wrinkled, sweating face indicating her hard work.

Inside the chamber, all the other midwives were on the ground, and one of the midwives was holding the crying baby, and two midwives were attending to the cheiftess.

While giving birth, at the last moment she fainted, and the baby came out.

The baby was following the usual trend of babies, crying his peach off.

Yakarl dashed over quickly, and his heart was beating like crazy. The moment his eyes landed on his wife, whose eyes were closed, his heart rate went even higher. The colour in his eyes seemed to be fading, and a strong bolt of lightning was ready to emit from his beard.

One of the midwives, seeing their cheif's reaction, hurriedly spoke, "Cheif, my lady is alright. She has just fainted."

"Just fainted!!!" She shouted her lungs out.

"Fainted!!!"

She, who was exhausted from all the work, shouted her soul out!

And suddenly the bolt of lighting dissipated, and the colour in Yakarl's eyes returned.

Upon noting this, midwives sighed heavily; even if this delivery that took almost 5 hours didn't kill them, this bolt would have surely killed them.

Everyone was aware of their chief's infamous act of unconsciously releasing the lightning bolt.

Every midwife sighed in relief, and every midwife was glaring at only one midwife who was holding a baby.

Their gazes relayed the message of the urgency of the situation.

Sensing everyone's gaze, the midwife holding the baby boy rushed to the chief.

"Cheif, the baby."

Yakarl looked towards the baby in the hands of the midwife; it was a boy with scarlet-coloured hair with a few streaks of black, just like his wife. The baby somewhat resembled his handsome features, with slightly big eyes, and it looked quite heavy as compared to a normal baby.

There was one small detail that only he could notice.

Yakarl took the baby in his hands. His hands were a bit stiff, and he looked nervous, but he held the baby in a grip as if he were holding the world in his hands, and this was the world he would never let go of.

The baby, who was previously crying, was now calm and appeared to be in a sleepy mood, but the eyes of both father and baby met.

Unknowingly, with the large eyes of the baby, it looked at his father with curiosity.

"Sesese! If an enmey saw you like this, they would think of you as a saint." Shaman Marsa approached the duo and spoke in a sarcastic tone, not a single bit befuddling her position.

And soon she motioned to take the baby from Yakarl's hand; however, Yakarl didn't give the baby to her.

She again motioned to take the baby, and again the baby was not released.

She then looked at Yakarl, who was looking at the baby with tears in his eyes.

"Tch!" She clicked her tongue and then again motioned, again seeing the same result, and then her temper rose like a storm, and she shouted at Yakarl, "Shi..."

However, her words were interrupted by a man who just entered the chamber, who wore armour and looked panicked, and with his trembling voice, he shouted, "Cheif!"

Huff! Huff!

While panting, he spoke in a grim voice.

"They are coming!"