Villain Transmigration: Author Transformation

[Father, we have agreed on this, alright?]

Athan saw a glimpse of Mystique scribbling in the air with such words to his doting father before he hid behind the walls, he didn't mean to listen, but another news earlier piqued his interest.

It was just the same thought as he had.

"Yes, but—"

He stopped for a while; perhaps Athan thought Arnold got cut off from Mystique's advances and resolution in her words.

"I'm sorry I spoke out of turn that day... I hope you understand; no money and power can bring back my daughter. You're the only one I have—Okay, okay! I won't remind you that, and I promise not to sell our assets just…"

'I'm also glad he didn't; it was supposedly empty words to scare him, with the Emperor on my side. But he was so adamant…' he pinched his nose bridge from how boggled he was after that moment.

"Oh Mysti, what must I do to make you stay? I—you know, I—" Arnold started to fumble with his words and only groaned when he found himself in a pinch. "I lost you once, and there might not be another miracle for us…"

For a while, Athan crossed his arms and leaned the wall as he eavesdropped in their conversation. His chest tightened when he got to hear their brief conversation—all of the concerns and worries found in his voice while there was firmness in her reassurance—like any father and daughter would do before they were set apart.

He did little to no contribution to what supposedly could've happened with Arnold and Mystique from then on. With that thought was akin to a large stake pulled out of his chest.

Though things were far from over.

He needed to move away when he knew that Mystique was on her way, to the capital no less.

Silence came back adrift and welcomed his ears, but it was at least for a little while.

"I must have been a bad father to you…" 

Arnold's words were enough to stifle the air and rooted him onto the frozen ground. It tinged with such raw emotions that Athan never thought it was spoken from the man who was a notch lower than his father, the Emperor.

He took a glance at his insignia—like some special brooch on his tunic—that reminded him of the man behind it.

Yet it was no doubt he would ever have remorse, much and brimmed with emotions like Arnold.

'Perhaps not in this lifetime as well…'

Though it wasn't what he hoped for as he wasn't that special in his eyes, no matter how much effort he placed.

No muffled voices, no sniffs, no sounds of any kind heard—no matter how keen his senses got.

Further, that would make him susceptible to Arnold's might. Moreover, lingering around them would only outgrow the envy that laid dormant within him.

Just a floor lower and a few blocks away was Nero's spare chamber, rather newly furbished enough to accommodate a familiar like him.

Within the hallway had his footsteps echoed: in subtle thuds and monotonous tempo.

As usual, there were neither maids nor footmen seen with the hallway he treaded; perhaps Mystique instructed to stay away from him.

Not that he cared about it either, less problem for him.

After personal scrutiny from Mystique, he has moved right away through her orders. Her instructions that he needed more time to recover made him, as the owner, be considerate enough and pushed his plans. 

Now was the right moment to seek Nero.

Through his hands reaching the metal doorknob, a slight creek made him see the large crystalline lion head that perked up, and eyes always held with such contempt.

"You're back at last..." He raised from his crouching position on the white pelt carpet with his hairy tuft on its tail, swaying to and fro. 

"Had things I had to work on…" He went to the nearby lounge and sat with much comfort, feet on the sandalwood table with palms on top of his head. "By the way, Lady Marianne will travel with us back home."

The head of Nero twisted to the side, unable to get the gist of what Athan mentioned. 

"A who?"

"You'll know soon enough."

Nero slumped his chin on the furry carpet, mumbling, "... You've been busy."

"So are you; with your bloated belly, must've enjoyed your stay here."

"I'm well-fed after all, not like in your abode." Nero harrumphed, letting out a cold mist. "I'd rather stay here—"

"It's better to have an adventure where you'd be able to stop and look for some tasty 'treasures' yourself—"

"Now we're talking!" Nero roared, then let out a hearty guffaw as he was delighted to hear his tempting suggestion. His tail wagged fiercely, almost whipping the air with a crisp sound.

Athan took a deep breath to appease the frustration he had. He could only either win an argument or his intense nagging if there was food brought at the table, literally.

Though he wasn't the one to lose at such a bargain.

He went to the edge of the seat; once seated, he patted the bed, beckoning him closer.

"I have one condition, that is…"

His jagged face scrunched in no way he could describe.

Not that he wasn't fiercely ugly and scary in the first place.

Much worse than that, with such a stark glare that was enough to pierce him to the bone.

"I—need your cooperation, alright? Easy, easy…" He gently shoved his snout away from him. "I give you my word."

"You better; now, what is it..." Nero started to scratch his large torso with his hind leg.

"Sleep."

However, Nero turned around with his ass swaying with every strut. "Damn, here I thought it was some grave request."

"I'm serious."

His tone halted him and went back. It was a tone he was overtly attuned to when it's grave enough.

"So, I'll be in bed then?" asked Nero as he hopped onto the bed and sprawled for all he cared.

Athan nodded. 

It might still be a crude process, as he had yet to master the art of witchcraft and wizardry. 

He hovered his hand, whispering, "This will hurt…"

Just then, his senses heightened with piercing pain, almost like his body got dragged hundreds of miles per second. 

Glimmering memories flashed before his mind, so much that it was a bottomless pit, converting everything to pitch-black darkness.