No More Pain For This Villain.

[Third Person View.]

Gasping for air, shaking from head to toe, the boy lay on the floor. His plain porcelain mask covered half of his face, while his red hair was disheveled and his appearance unkempt.

"It hurts," he murmured, clutching his stomach and staring at the ceiling as if lost in thought.

His hand delved into his pocket, retrieving a square amulet which he held tightly, closing his eyes in the process.

It was a convergence amulet.

"Why does this keep happening?" he pondered aloud.

Knock*

There was a knock on the door, signaling someone outside.

Aron glanced to his side, finding a maid, who until yesterday worked in his dorm, lying beside him. Her eyes were wide open, with violent marks of scratches and blood marring her face.

Her cries haunted him, echoing in his mind as she begged.

He turned, attempting to rise and support himself, but groaned at the sight of blood.

Beside him lay the maid, her body bleeding, her clothes in tatters unable to cover her properly.

Knock knock

Another knock followed. He collapsed to the floor, weeping like a child, gazing at his bloodied hands.

His face was equally bloodied, hard to look at. Removing the mask, he revealed an ugly scar on his face, clawing at it vigorously.

"Why? Why? Why?" he cried out in a frenzy.

She was the same girl who brought him food occasionally, never meeting his gaze, but he knew she worked for her mother's health. Without such necessity, no one would willingly work for him.

And now—

He recalled her crying figure pleading to be let go so she could care for her mother, even as he began vomiting on the floor.

The knocks at the door grew louder. He struggled to his feet, searching for something sharp. A fruit basket near the mirror held a knife.

Gazing at the girl, he knew she wouldn't survive. The royal family would dispose of her, and as she wasn't a mage, complete recovery wasn't possible after what he had done.

Why not end it all?

He took the knife and approached the maid, crouching down gently, feeling a surge of disgust at himself. Sliding the knife across her throat, he witnessed her eyes losing the light they once held, draining his own strength.

Splashing his face in the cold water of the bathtub, he stared at the corpse from the corner of the bathroom, leaving the door open.

Finally, the door broke down, and a butler entered. Aron didn't show any surprise, no expression; he was accustomed to this.

Aron submerged his face in the cold water as the butler silently removed the corpse without uttering a word.

He felt the heavy burden of his actions, an oppressive weight that seemed to suffocate every breath he drew. Alone with his thoughts, he stared at the reflection in the mirror, a visage twisted by self-loathing and disgust.

"I am a monster," he whispered to the empty room, his voice a mere echo of the torment raging within. Every fiber of his being rebelled against the vicious actions he'd perpetrated. He longed for redemption, a chance to erase the atrocities he'd committed, but the weight of his sins pressed down upon him, unyielding.

The reflection in the mirror, once a source of introspection, now served only to amplify his self-revulsion. His scarred face, the grotesque manifestation of his inner turmoil, stared back at him accusingly, a constant reminder of his unforgivable transgressions.

The relentless self-loathing consumed him, drowning any semblance of hope for redemption. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows across the room, a reflection of the darkness that had engulfed his soul. He felt hollow, a vessel filled with nothing but anguish, shackled by the unrelenting weight of his own malevolence.

He grappled with the undeniable truth—he was beyond redemption, forever tainted by the monstrous being he had become. The flicker of humanity within him seemed extinguished, leaving behind only the hollow remnants of a man consumed by the malevolence within.

***

Emerging from the bathroom, the air around Aron felt heavy, as if a cloud of darkness accompanied his every move. He casually threw on a robe, leaving his upper body bare as he hastily gathered his things. The dorm's usual calmness seemed disrupted by his presence, a strange tension filling the air.

Moving with a determined yet uneasy gait, Aron stepped out of his room. Cecelia stood nearby, stone faced. Feeling a pang of guilt, he quickly averted his gaze, choosing to ignore her presence. He hurried past without a single word, eager to escape the judgment or disgusting looks he might receive.

It was like he was fleeing from something dreadful within himself, avoiding any confrontation that might reveal the disturbing truth of what had transpired. His quick pace signaled a desperate attempt to distance himself from the reality he'd just faced.

His reality.....

He strode onto the academy grounds, the morning sun casting long shadows across the grass. A slight breeze rustled the leaves of nearby trees, adding a whispering soundtrack to the scene. The carriages stood in a neat row, their polished exteriors glinting in the sunlight.

Amidst the hustle and bustle of students, Aron felt a sense of anticipation building. This was the crucial step forward, the commencement of an important journey.

Adiel Velcrow's resonating words echoed in his mind, emphasizing the significance of victory in the impending Mage's Gambit. It was a pivotal move on the path to securing the throne.

Despite the stirring atmosphere, Hera's absence lingered as a quiet question mark. Her directive to become stronger for an elusive promise of normalcy still perplexed him, leaving a faint aura of uncertainty amidst his determination.

He glanced at Adam and the rest of the group, but his attention immediately shifted to Cecelia, who seemed engrossed in Adam's presence.

An irked sensation gripped him, prompting him to utter, "You'd better not get too comfortable here. I expect constant updates regarding the Simurgh." His voice, laced with restraint, caused Cecelia to recoil slightly before nodding in acknowledgment. However, he noticed the tightening of her fists, a gesture that didn't escape his notice.

Had it not been for his status as her master, he pondered, she might have already exacted revenge, or worse—abandoned him altogether.