Villain Transmigration: Author Transformation

Nero sprawled on the ground with the subtle trembles in his limbs. He was just right across from Athan, who stood just several inches away from him.

From the center found a torn page from her grimoire, which contained— several diagrams and inscriptions— he was somehow familiar with...

He tried as much as he could to decipher, but it was just obnoxious, almost didn't make sense to what he knew of the witch's literature thus far.

'This woman is really tricky….' He peered sideways, and she continued scribbling on the floor with several shapes and drawings connected in a large circle with several layers. 'She's dead meat if this was just her trick.'

Athan, at the moment, was so concerned with Nero that he had to let things slide.

Meanwhile, Mystique had kept her hair into a bun as quickly as possible and focused her task at hand.

'Never once did she gaze at him the moment she started the ritual—' There she went on and tucked her hair behind the ear and revealed her fair shoulders and neck.

Though it was a quick snap in his fantasy when Mystique flicked her hand without looking at him, just gesturing not to move an inch from his stead.

"I've been standing for a while now—" Then he squinted at her fingers raised. "Three minutes, that's too long already."

Unable to take his whines, Mystique wrote fast in her grimoire, shooting them to his way.

[Disturb me any further, and this ritual will work in reversal. Stay still. Don't try me if you want to save him.]

Her threats, all of a sudden, worked like magic. He remained upright, despite the sudden tingle and itch that crept his skin, it was a nuisance, but it would've been worth the wait for him.

For him, it took forever that he stole a glance on the floor she had written and drawn, and this time, he was able to decipher more or less of the ritual.

'Indeed, this pertains to the distribution and conversion…' Athan couldn't help but nod inwardly from the impressive intricacies in it. 'She wasn't fooling around.'

Meanwhile, Mystique crouched for a while, kneading her knees and elbows, before she stood and laid several torn papers with inscriptions.

He saw candles—drawn and labeled—replacing an actual medium, for instance, which brings him more questions to mind.

'However true is the replacement for the lacking mediums, what urged her to consume the blank pages of her grimoire? I refuse to believe she doesn't want anything from me this much.'

[Stop glaring at me.] Mystique frowned at him. [It's all set, ready your arm.] From her palms crystallized, similar to a shard of broken glass.

Athan grabbed it without further qualms and raised his hand with rolled sleeves. From his forearm—toned and pale enough to see the tad green of his veins—slit and bloomed fresh blood that trickled on the centerpiece of the ritual.

Every drop triggered a golden glow and gotten stronger than before until every symbol lit up with brightness. Meantime, his forehead scrunched, sweating profusely, from the sudden drain of his strength that came along with his blood.

Mystique flipped through her grimoire, which remained afloat, as she continued to mumble words of power. Her hand was sophisticated enough to dance in the frigid air that swirled around them.

Again, to him, it was another waiting game, for he didn't know how much he would've to do this. But before he could grumble further, he was impressed with the subtle results of Nero that already went aglow, slowly transforming to his original form.

It still wasn't his hobby to stay for another round when he planned to do crazy action to catch her off guard. Withal, he slit another round, making more and more blood gushed out of it.

[Have you lost your mind?!] Mystique berated. [You're making things harder for us! You know nothing—]

"Perhaps you must not know me at all, Violette."

'It was a felonious act, but she was very well-versed with forbidden dark arts—the blood rite.'

Only after her she developed the method after her heinous experiments came to fruition; as much as he didn't want to admit it, her collection changed the lives of wizards and witches forever.

'It took me years during the war to learn a fraction of occult knowledge from witchcraft.'

Athan had a smug look on his face despite him wincing in more burden on his head and shoulders. It was her another secret after taking his bait.

'It's Mystique from the future...'

Just as he suspected, the ritual got faster with Nero's engorged figure that turned almost half of the bed within the chamber.

Though with such power came a price.

It was a round of punches that struck in his arm and on his chest, continuously banging and churning his gut in a pool of fire.

For Athan, the room waltzed in no way he could understand.

'I underestimated how dangerous this spell was…' he clicked his tongue and endured now that he started it.

The hand had lost its paleness when it was all covered—as bloody as its eyes could ever get— and with a few smears on his sleeve alarmed Mystique. She somehow lost her composure from his sudden actions, but she knew she had to continue with the blood rite.

Just a little more, and with his horns protrude alongside the jagged, crystalline wings, had ended the ritual with a wave of her hand.

He could regain his senses after several seconds had passed, but the overwhelming fatigue began to blanket him. With it, he slumped to the floor and gasped for air from the dangerous act they did.

A loud thud crisped the air from closing her spellbook, and Athan furrowed his eyebrows into a deep line when she trudged close with the same look as him.

If anything, it piqued his interest from her actions when she jammed her arm inside the familiar's mouth.

Without mercy, her arm reached deeper in his mouth.

On the other hand, Mystique thinned her lips as she tried to look for what she needed.

Only a matter of minutes when her arm, coated in shimmering tar and crystal bits, revealed a soaked bag.

'Was that a sachel—Wait! A strange poison causing Nero's...'

Her face enlivened like there was no tomorrow.

Which Athan dawned in realization.

Mystique was still the selfish woman that she was; this time, it was about the bag.

Hatred came along with it when it affected Nero.

"I hope you don't forget our agreement, Violette."