The Villain Professor's Second Chance

The world.

I always thought of it as something hollow, something meaningless.

We live, we strive, and in the end, we just die.

That's all there is—a cycle of struggle followed by an inevitable end.

I used to find comfort in that simplicity.

Life was a process, a machine, and I was simply one of its parts.

Efficient. Mechanical.

But now… now it's different.

The air feels different—colder, more hostile.

The thoughts that fill my mind aren't mine.

They don't belong to me, or at least, not entirely.

I can hear it.

A voice inside my head, whispering.

Ah, it's you. Draven.

Would you care to tell me a single thing?

Who am I?

Did I manage to become a better version of you?

Or are we, in the end, the same thing?

Would we end with the same fate?

No.

Perhaps the question should be phrased differently…

Who are you, Draven?

No.

Who… am I?

____

My eyes open slowly, and the first thing I register is a pounding in my head, the kind that seems to throb in tandem with my heartbeat. The world around me is a blur, shadows blending with faint glimmers of light, all distorted into an incoherent mess. I feel the cold ground beneath me, and the weight of an unfamiliar magic pressing down on my chest.

Every breath is thick, each one more difficult than the last.

With effort, I manage to lift my head, my vision slowly coming into focus. It doesn't take long for me to realize that everything has changed. We're no longer in that dark chamber. The oppressive ceiling of stone is gone, replaced by an open sky—a sky that fills me with a dread that cuts through my grogginess.

Four moons hover above me, each one radiating its own eerie glow. Blood red, sickly green, deep indigo, shadowy black—each one seems to hum with a distinct power, resonating with something within me that I don't fully understand. It's like they're watching, glaring down at us from the dark heavens, their presence thick with ominous intent.

The air itself feels malevolent, thick with magic that practically oozes malice. Every instinct I have screams that this is not just any place. This is something far worse.

I push myself to my feet, steadying myself against the overwhelming sense of unease that fills the atmosphere. My eyes narrow as I take in my surroundings. The landscape is alien—dark, foreboding. Large, jagged rocks rise from the barren ground, twisted and malformed as if molded by some malicious hand.

A cold wind howls through the emptiness, carrying with it a faint whisper that seems to sink into my bones.

"Damn it," I mutter under my breath. A scenario like this—waking up in an unknown, clearly hostile place—is just about the worst-case scenario. It's not like we were in a great situation before, but this... this feels like a death sentence. We've gone from the frying pan directly into the fires of hell.

I scan the area, looking for the others. My eyes catch sight of movement a few feet away. Lyan, the shadow of his usual confident self, is slowly picking himself up from the ground, shaking his head as if trying to clear the cobwebs clouding his senses. I start toward him, but my attention is caught by two other figures sprawled on the ground.

Aurelia and Anastasia. They're close by, both of them lying motionless, their faces pale and strained. I can't ignore the instinctive pang of concern that shoots through me. I'm by their side in an instant, crouching down to check on them. Something's wrong—terribly wrong. Even unconscious, their faces are twisted in agony, their brows furrowed, and their breathing erratic.

It's like they're being tormented even in their sleep.

A low, rumbling growl resonates through the air, a sound so deep it seems to bypass the ears and shake the very core of the soul. My breath catches, and I can feel it—an attack, not on the body, but on something deeper. My soul itself feels like it's being clawed at, torn apart. The pressure is unbearable, the pain gnawing at the edges of my mind.

I grit my teeth, forcing myself to stay steady. It's a familiar feeling, this pressure—the feeling of something trying to break me. I've been through this before, in one form or another. My mental power is too great, my walls too high for this force to break through easily. But I'm not foolish enough to think I'm unaffected.

Aurelia and Anastasia, however, are not so fortunate. Their faces contort in pain, their bodies trembling as if caught in some horrific nightmare. And then, they begin to scream—piercing, raw screams that cut through the dark silence, echoing across the barren landscape. The sound is desperate, primal, and it hits me like a physical blow.

I act immediately. I can't let this continue—not for a moment longer. I move between them, summoning my magic without hesitation.

This is no longer the time to hide my powers.

Barrier spells, multiple layers—each infused with a different element, each one more complex than the last. This is no time to hold back.

"Psychokinesis Pen," I mutter, my hand moving in fluid motions as I draw the first layer—a mental barrier meant to shield against intangible attacks. The air around us shimmers as the barrier takes form, a faint luminescent glow surrounding the three of us.

It's not enough. The growl deepens, the pressure intensifying, and I watch in dismay as the barrier begins to flicker, cracks appearing along its surface. The screams grow louder.

"Elven Water Pen," I grit out, my voice a low snarl as I draw another layer, this one of water—flexible, fluid, designed to absorb and disperse energy. The barrier manifests, swirling around the first like a second skin. It holds for a heartbeat longer, but then it too begins to crack, the oppressive energy seeping through.

Panic—a rare, unwelcome emotion—begins to claw at my chest. I've faced death countless times, but this… seeing them like this, writhing in pain, their souls being attacked… It's something I cannot accept. I won't let it happen.

"Fire Pen! Devil Pen!" I shout, the desperation in my voice evident even to my own ears. I draw rapidly, the flames roaring to life, wrapping around the barriers, followed by the dark energy of the Devil Pen, forming a final layer. The combined magic glows fiercely, an intricate weave of elements meant to protect, to shield.

I pour my mana into it, pushing myself to my limits, but even then… even then, it's not enough.

The barriers shudder under the weight of the energy assaulting them, the pressure too great, the malevolent force too overwhelming. My hands shake, and I can feel my own strength waning. This… it's hopeless. I'm losing them.

"No," I growl, my voice low, filled with a rage I haven't felt in a long time. "No, I won't—"

"Dravis." The voice is calm, steady, and I feel a hand on my shoulder.

Lyan.

The incubus that somehow became our ally in this unknown quest.

I turn my head, my eyes meeting his. His expression is grim, a seriousness in his gaze that I've rarely seen before. He steps forward, his other hand raised, a purple light gathering in his palm.

"Let me handle this," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I hesitate, but only for a moment. I step back, allowing him space, watching as he moves closer to Aurelia and Anastasia. With a wave of his hand, he conjures a barrier—a deep, shimmering purple that envelops both of them. The energy radiating from it is different—calm, almost soothing.

The screams begin to subside, their bodies relaxing, the tension easing from their forms. Their breathing steadies, and I feel a rush of relief so intense it nearly knocks me off balance.

Lyan turns to me, his voice low, urgent.

"This is Tiamat's Castle. That growl—it's Tiamat's presence. The Dragon God's very aura is damaging their souls. I don't know why you're unaffected, but it means you can still move. We need to act quickly."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut.

Tiamat's Castle.

The realization sends a chill through me.

This is the worst possible scenario—a place of legends, a domain of a creature whose power dwarfs anything we've faced.

The Dragon God.

Tiamat.

?!!??!?!?!

Before Lyan can finish explaining, an immense pressure descends upon us, the very ground beneath us trembling violently. I look up, my eyes widening as I see it—a colossal figure emerging from the darkness, its form taking shape against the eerie light of the four moons.

A dragon—no, more than that. Eight massive wings unfurl, each one lined with grotesque tentacles that writhe and twist as if they have a life of their own. Its scales glisten in the moonlight, a dark, iridescent hue that seems to shift and shimmer. Its eyes—cold, calculating, filled with malice—lock onto us, and I feel a sense of awe, of terror, unlike anything I've ever experienced.

"Dragon God of Demons… Tiamat," I breathe, my voice barely a whisper. The true embodiment of chaos and destruction—a force of nature, a being beyond comprehension.

This… this is what we face.

The worst has only just begun.