I Really Am A Villain

“You go too far,” said Nether-Prime, stepping forward with a grim expression. “Do you have some old grudge against my Spectral Ghost Race?”

“Grudge?” the Abyssal Tyrant replied indifferently. “I can’t stand anyone in this world. Every death makes it a little quieter. But right now, there’s only one person I want to kill. The rest of you, get lost.”

“You can kill whoever you like, but disrespect my Spectral Ghost Race, and no matter who you are, you’ll pay the price,” Nether-Prime said coldly.

Before his words even faded, another wave of demonic clouds crashed down from the void.

Ghost Monarch Nether-Prime raised his hands to the sky, summoning the Phantom Seal of Nether-Prime above his head to meet the incoming attack.

But it was clear that the dark cloud’s power was far beyond expectations.

The strength of a Creation God, how could a mere Grand Emperor hope to resist it?

With a resounding boom, Ghost Monarch Nether-Prime was sent hurtling through the air like a cannonball, smashing into the ground below.

The earth shook violently, dust rising everywhere. He struggled to his feet, his body trembling, the sheer force of the Abyssal Tyrant’s attack left him pale with fear.

“Form the Myriad-Ghost Formation!” he shouted urgently.

At once, hundreds of billions of ghost soldiers and generals rallied together. The once-disordered troops straightened into perfect formation.

The countless Ghost Generals led the charge, sprinting around the perimeter of the ruins. When the Spectral Ghost Race army spread out fully, the aura they released was overwhelming, their murderous energy surged skyward, piercing through the heavens.

“Child’s play,” the Abyssal Tyrant sneered.

He waved his hand, and a crimson river of blood surged forth, vast, torrential, and unstoppable.

Wherever that river flowed, every ghost it touched instantly dissolved and melted away.

Yet the Spectral Ghost Race army showed no fear. For every soldier who fell, another immediately took his place, their determination unbroken.

“Formation complete!” shouted the sixteen Ghost Monarchs, each seated at one of the sixteen positions.

The countless ghosts sat cross-legged, channeling thick, oppressive Yin energy that filled even the air around Xu Zimo.

“Come, wraiths of the underworld!” Ghost Monarch Nether-Prime commanded, summoning the murderous aura to surround the Abyssal Tyrant.

The dark power tried to rip the Yin soul from the Abyssal Tyrant’s body.

The Yin and Yang souls were the foundation of all living beings, unless one died, they could never be separated.

But the Spectral Ghost Race hailed from the Mirage Tides Heaven, their arts strange and terrifying, many directly targeting the soul itself.

As the Yin energy pulled at him, the Abyssal Tyrant’s soul began to tear slightly away from his body.

A surge of pain washed over him, but the Abyssal Tyrant merely frowned, not uttering a single cry.

“Interesting,” he murmured.

Then he raised his right hand and shouted softly, “Primordial Wheel of Demonic Creation.”

From the sky descended a massive, blood-red wheel with jagged teeth, radiating the endless force of Creation itself.

It spun once, just once, and half the Spectral Ghost Race army was annihilated.

Blood rained from the heavens. The ground was painted red with flesh and gore, so gruesome that onlookers gagged and turned pale.

Without their army, the Spectral Ghost Race’s great formation shattered.

The sixteen Ghost Monarchs, helpless as lambs awaiting slaughter, watched the spinning gear descend toward them once more.

Time seemed to freeze at that dreadful moment.

“The life and death of the Spectral Ghost Race shall be decided by the Spectral Ghost Race,” said an aged voice.

“You have slaughtered our army without reason, your crime reaches the heavens.”

A withered hand extended from the void and caught the spinning Primordial Wheel of Demonic Creation mid-strike.

“Take it back,” the old voice said, and with a flick, hurled the wheel back toward the Abyssal Tyrant.

The returning power shattered the space around the Abyssal Tyrant before the gear halted, floating once again in his hand.

The Abyssal Tyrant raised an eyebrow, then smiled. “Well now, this is getting interesting.”

Before him stood an old man garbed in a flowing robe the color of the underworld, woven from the waters of the Yellow Springs itself.

The old man had sharp, hawk-like eyes, a hooked nose, and irises so dark that they revealed nothing.

Strands of black hair hung loosely from his temples, and around his neck hung a horn-shaped pendant carved with countless skulls.

Though his appearance was plain, his aura commanded attention, wherever he stood, he was the center of all.

A cold wind lifted the hem of his robe, and it sounded as if the River of Souls flowed nearby, with countless flowers of the other shore blooming in the sky.

“Spectral Ghost Sovereign!”

“Spectral Ghost Sovereign, it’s us!” countless ghosts cried, kneeling in reverence.

Everyone knew what that title meant.

The Spectral Ghost Sovereign was the supreme ruler of the Spectral Ghost Race, the one sent from the Mirage Tides Heaven to oversee this region.

For ages, the entire Ghost Race of this heaven had lived under his command.

“The demonic energy on you,” the Ghost Sovereign said quietly, eyeing the Abyssal Tyrant, “it carries a trace of our Mirage Tides Heaven’s aura.”

“The Mirage Tides Heaven is impressive,” the Abyssal Tyrant replied coolly, “but if you intend to recruit me, you’re far from worthy.”

To him, no one in this world deserved respect.

“Recruitment?” the Spectral Ghost Sovereign said softly. “No. You trespassed against my people. Whatever your status, you must pay the price.”

His gaze shifted past the Abyssal Tyrant, looking up toward the sky behind him. He smiled faintly. “Primal God Sovereign, how much longer do you plan to hide?”

The two words, Primal God Sovereign, caused an uproar among everyone present.

If the Spectral Ghost Sovereign ruled the Spectral Ghost Race, then naturally, the Primal God Sovereign ruled the Primal God Race.

A booming laugh echoed as a man stepped forth, a middle-aged figure clad in golden dragon robes, radiating majesty that filled the heavens.

The primal god power surrounding him surged ceaselessly, pressing down on the void itself.

He had thick brows, sharp eyes that blazed like torches, and a divine sword slung across his back.

Each step he took was steady and regal, and golden clouds rolled out behind him, embodying the righteousness of heaven and earth.

“Spectral Ghost Sovereign,” the Primal God Sovereign said with a smile, “this is between you two. Why involve me?”

“If I hadn’t called you out, would you just sit back and reap the spoils?” the Spectral Ghost Sovereign replied coldly.

“The one who reaps the spoils won’t be me,” said the Primal God Sovereign, shaking his head. “There’s someone else entirely.”

“Don’t forget,” he continued, “though our races may not get along, the Ghost God Heaven has a common enemy that concerns us both.”

His reminder made the Spectral Ghost Sovereign’s eyes narrow.

Indeed, there was another force that even they feared. The Nine Ghost Gods, and the being behind them, End of Calamities.

“Where is Corpse Hook?” the Ghost God barked, frowning.

As one of the Nine Ghost Gods, Corpse Hook was tasked with guarding the Nether Mountains and serving as liaison between the Primal God and Spectral Ghost Races.

The moment his name was called, Corpse Hook appeared nearby, smiling as he looked at everyone present.

“So, you’ve been watching us from the shadows all this time,” the Spectral Ghost Sovereign said coldly.

“May I ask what business brings you here, Spectral Ghost Sovereign?” Corpse Hook said with an easy smile.

“What is your stance, then?” the Spectral Ghost Sovereign demanded.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand your meaning,” Corpse Hook replied with a shake of his head.