I am the Villain

A Little Visit

The ghost realm never slept. It hissed. It howled. It simmered with malice and madness. Amid the chaos, a towering gambling house stood like a crooked crown. Smoke curled through the air, thick with incense and sin, while ghostly figures and horned monsters paced hungrily around polished obsidian tables.

At the center of it all, hidden behind sheer curtains and velvet ropes, sat Feng Wuxin on a bone-carved throne. His chin rested lazily on one hand. His black and red robes fell off his shoulder, exposing the faint shimmer of cracked veins along his pale collarbone. Sharp ears twitched at the sound of another wail, someone else losing everything in a desperate bet. They wagered their strength, their memories, their sacred techniques, their own names, anything for a sliver of power or hope. But Feng Wuxin never lost. With every fall of a dice, every turn of a card, he absorbed more. Skill. Power. Aura. He didn't even have to stand up.

He didn't want to. It was boring now. They were all so pathetic. "Pathetic," he muttered under his breath, twirling a thin coin between his fingers. The coin glimmered faintly with trapped spirit energy. He flicked it into the mouth of a caged ghoul for fun. The ghoul gagged on it and burst into blue flame.

A few nearby creatures flinched. A ghost at the slot table started sobbing. Nobody looked at him. But then, suddenly, pain. His toe.

Feng Wuxin's face twitched. He rubbed his booted foot against the edge of his throne. A throb. A real, dull, obnoxious throb. "Did that brat stub his toe again?" Wuxin growled, standing. The ghouls backed away. When he got moody, people died. One even attempted to bow, but Feng kicked him backward with one effortless strike. "I'll be back. Don't gamble everything while I'm gone," he said with a smirk before vanishing in a cloud of ash.

In the mortal realm, Shen Liang stood in the middle of a forest, sword in hand, surrounded by twitching demon corpses. His uniform was singed at the sleeves. He gritted his teeth, barely holding himself together. He didn't call for backup. He didn't need backup.

Or so he thought.

A puff of black smoke erupted beside him, and from it stepped the nightmare himself. "Miss me?" said Feng Wuxin with a sly grin, his red eyes glowing. Shen Liang turned sharply, sword raised, but paused. Wuxin looked different now. Taller. Stronger. His hair was longer and wild, untamed and striking without the red ribbon he used to wear. His ears sharp, his pale skin unnaturally flawless. Fangs peeking through a smirk.

Wuxin didn't wait. He launched into the demon horde beside Liang with savage ease, slicing clean through heads and limbs with his infamous bone sword. For the first time, they fought side-by-side. One graceful and precise, the other chaotic and ruthless. And for a second, it worked. Until the demons were gone.

Shen Liang wasted no time. He turned to attack Wuxin with a flash of his blade. But Wuxin caught his wrist mid-air. The sword clattered to the ground. "Nice seeing you again," Wuxin said, eyes dancing with amusement as he looked down at him. "You've grown. Almost handsome now."

Shen growled, struggling, then angrily stepped on Wuxin's black boot. "Really?" Wuxin rolled his eyes. "That's your move? Did you miss me that much?"

"I hate you," Shen spat.

"Aw," Wuxin chuckled and let him go. Shen staggered back, clutching his wrist in pain. "Oops. Forgot about the curse. Must be rough."

"You—" Shen started. But a sharp shout echoed through the forest. Cultivators. More than a dozen clan leaders and disciples poured into the clearing. Their weapons glowed with enchantments. Their faces darkened when they saw the bone sword and the red-eyed man standing before their golden boy.

"Feng Wuxin!" one of them roared. The forest stood still.

Feng Wuxin grabbed Shen Liang and pulled him close, holding his bone sword at his throat. Shen froze, eyes wide, breath heavy.

"Now now," Wuxin said, eyes flicking between the men. "You wouldn't strike your own prodigy, would you?" The clan leaders cursed under their breaths, shouting for him to release Shen Liang. Feng's eyes narrowed. "You're still boring," he muttered.

Then, like a dying flame caught in wind, Feng Wuxin vanished into black smoke, taking the tension with him. One of the elders screamed in frustration, slamming his sword into the ground.

Shen Liang stood alone, holding his own neck where the sword had touched. The smoke was still settling. His heart thudded in his chest. But there was no cut, no blood. He was gone again. Gone like a ghost.

Back in the ghost realm, Feng Wuxin returned to his throne with a swirl of his robe and a smug grin. He sat down lazily, tossing a silver coin at a startled spirit. "Where were we?" he asked. "Roll the dice." The gambling resumed, but the tension remained. Even the spirits could feel it, Feng Wuxin had returned from the mortal realm... smiling.