Villain Transmigration: Author Transformation

In the guest chamber, particularly in a king-sized bed, Athan plopped himself on the white fabric of the bedsheet, cozying in its soft and tender sensations that assaulted back to his worn-out body. He tried to sprawl his arms on it as well, but the sharp pain almost crushed his left arm for the second time with an abrupt movement.

It made him sit upright and gently rubbed the swollen area. Across his ivory skin and his toned muscles had a large coverage—a mixture of red and bluish hues—seen after his torn sleeves.

"Damn, it hurts like hell!" he hissed.

All he wanted was to throw a fit, but that would revert him to his old self drowned in misery. He needed to recollect his thoughts and assess every situation.

'Mystique… Things aren't over yet. We shall see who would have the last laugh…' He glared at the window in the dark blue sky with whimsical snowstorms.

He then noticed Nero but was still in his rest. With their connection—a special and unique familiar bond—and looking close to him, he was under her sleeping spell.

A strong one at that.

"Doesn't matter." The pain ticked again, and he scrunched his face from what he overlooked. "I should be able to heal rather quickly; it's half an hour already, and I'm still injured."

He laid down on the bed, this time with care. It may be a large bruise, but the pain continued to sting throughout his body.

On the other arm, he laid on his forehead. 'Perhaps I haven't drunk much blood from young and healthy maidens this time.'

The kind of discomfort was intense, and he still remembered how it sizzled in his skin.

It was understandable if it came from the Grand Duke himself, but from that man had him grit his teeth out of frustration.

So much frustration, the wave of fatigue got on his head with eyelids drooped with heaviness before it sunk deep to his limbs.

With a sigh, the grave bruise reminded him of the recent memory before his consciousness dwindled to such a dream.

***

The door creaked aloud, and Athan already noticed a grave danger that pricked from his sides. When he turned to the side to defend himself, it was a blurred figure that dashed onward.

Only with the moment, a black leather-gloved fist struck hard on the crown prince's forearm had him know who it was then.

'So fast!' he grunted from the impact.

It was only in a split second, but the pain was beyond tolerable, his heart thumping hard after the sudden crack of the bone that crisped the air.

Athan rolled back from the impact, hitting the table, and left a dent before gaining stability to stand. Out of instinct, he held onto his injured arm with sweat breaking out on his forehead. He glared at Keith, whose green eyes went aglow—brimmed with deep hatred—and his wolf fangs that gaped wide almost tried to bite him.

'This can't be! How did he grow much stronger?!' His ponders had jaws clenched from the profound strength that came from his fist. 'It was almost on the level I knew later on—'

"Refrain your hands from touching Her Grace so freely." Keith roared.

His eyes then darted back at Keith, who slowly trudged close to Mystique, and defended her against him.

"Your Grace, did he hurt you again?" Keith muttered, tilted his head to the side but never broke free from the intense gaze he had against him.

[Fortunately, I wasn't violated just as much as I had before then—]

"Just say the word." His wolf ears perked higher than his voluminous hair, unsheathing his sword from the hilt.

[No, that's enough. I'm alright now. Thank you,] Mystique mumbled, pulling his broad shoulder close to him. [I just didn't appreciate his demeanor and dismissed that one fact we're together.]

Athan, watching their quick contact, scoffed in disbelief. "Impressive, you're here. How impertinent of you to have the audacity to bare your fangs against me, the heir apparent to the throne."

Even with such a course of pain, he raised his arm that sizzled in the frosty air.

But one thing bugged him was how this valiant knight could land a hit—a critical one at that—unto him.

Never once did he get this damage for his likes, even if he had encounters against or with him in a fight.

Except when the great flames of war arrived, he gauged his strength once again, able to contend him.

With the second life that became a blessing to him, he was conferred as the strongest among the bachelors in the empire. This one was deemed a feat.

Though his leers immediately landed on the lady that hid behind the knight's valor stance.

'Not an impossible outcome.' he squinted. 'But is it so?'

"So do you swear hereby what she claimed?" Athan's eyes gleamed in terror, the ground cracked, and few of the furniture snapped in his presence; even Keith almost kneeled from his power.

"I—swear—to my Lady, Mystique—Blackwell, not only my loyalty—" He grunted in pain, almost curbing his body when his knee struck the ground with large cracks. "Also, my love for her—"

His utterance only fueled Athan with deep anger that bottled up, his muscles tightened from the familiar pain that wrung his chest, and there was no better way to let go of his anguish than the mere knight in front of him.

"Enough!" Arnold came in quite a time; just his voice that echoed throughout the room surged a chilling wave that froze and painted every object in thickets of ice.

The small crispy sounds of ice adorned with crystals glittered the frozen study room, enough to break the silence and tension between them.

"With due respect, Prince Athan Ordell Vladimir, you may have His Majesty's insignia, but that doesn't mean you should abuse your authority." His indigo eyes glinted with such coldness that was enough to drip fear down to his spine.

"Your Grand Duchal Highness—"

"The night isn't young; perhaps the long journey is tiring… Riled up your senses." Arnold strode close to his daughter, trembling in fear. "I have asked Johannes to accommodate your stay."

However, Athan noticed between their hostile stares was Mystique, in Arnold's embrace, with a sinister smile he knew too well.

The smell of victory from the villainess herself.

The streaks of his veins etched out of anger, but he got stunned with his power.

"Now, if you will excuse us." Arnold then turned his back.

***