The Villain's explosive return.

I kept my head low, the fox mask hiding my face as I made my way toward the quieter outskirts of the market.

I was almost at the edge of the chaos when I felt it, a chill that ran down my spine.

Shadows shifted unnaturally in the corner of my vision.

"Oi," a gruff voice called out from behind me.

I turned slowly to see a group of three men stepping out from a darkened alley.

Their faces were shadowed by hoods,

but their intentions were clear in the glint of steel knives at their hips.

"You made quite the sale today," the leader said, his voice oozing with menace.

"How about sharing a bit of that wealth with us?"

I tightened my grip on my satchel. "I don't share," I replied flatly, my voice muffled slightly by the mask.

The second man, a wiry figure with a jagged scar running down his cheek, sneered.

"Oh, you'll share. Either the gold, or we'll take your hands. Your choice."

I glanced around. The alley was narrow, its only escape blocked by the three of them.

The faint hum of the market was distant now, and no one would come to my aid.

Good.

I dropped the satchel at my feet and raised my hands in mock surrender. "Alright. Let's talk."

The leader smirked and stepped closer, his knife glinting in the dim light. "Smart move, kid. Now—""

I didn't let him finish.

With a burst of movement, I kicked the satchel toward him. It struck his shin, making him stumble slightly.

I lunged forward, grabbing the closest man, "Scarface" by the wrist and twisting it hard.

His knife clattered to the ground as he let out a yelp.

But he wasn't the one I was after.

My momentum carried me toward the leader. He was quicker than I anticipated, slashing his knife toward my midsection.

I twisted, the blade grazing my shirt but missing flesh.

In a blur, I grabbed his hand and sank my teeth into his fingers.

"ARGH!" he screamed, his voice echoing in the narrow alley.

I bit down harder, the metallic taste of blood flooding my mouth as bone cracked under the pressure.

He dropped the knife, and I spit out the mangled finger, blood dripping from my lips.

The third man, a burly figure with wide shoulders, charged at me.

I pivoted, grabbing the discarded knife from the ground.

His momentum carried him forward, and I plunged the blade into his stomach.

He froze, his eyes wide with shock.

I twisted the blade for good measure, his blood soaking my hands as he crumpled to the ground.

The leader, clutching his ruined hand, stumbled back, his face pale.

Scarface scrambled to pick up his knife, but I turned to him, my mask now speckled with crimson.

"You want to try next?" I growled, my voice low and dangerous.

Scarface hesitated, his courage faltering.

"He's a madman!" the leader gasped, his voice shaking. "Let's get out of here!"

The two remaining men bolted, their footsteps fading into the distance as they muttered curses and panicked warnings.

I stood there, panting, the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

The body of the burly man lay at my feet, his lifeless eyes staring into the void.

As the last of the attackers fled, muttering "madman" under their breath, silence engulfed the narrow alley.

The coppery scent of blood hung heavy in the air, mingling with the dampness of the night.

My breaths came in ragged gasps as I stared at my hands, slick with crimson.

My eyes darted to the still figure at my feet, the man I'd stabbed.

The blade still protruded from his chest, the fabric of his shirt darkened and soaked.

I stumbled back, hitting the cold stone wall. My legs felt like they would give out beneath me, trembling uncontrollably.

My chest heaved as nausea clawed at my throat.

"I killed him," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

My gaze was fixed on his face, twisted in a frozen expression of pain and surprise. I felt the bile rise, choking me as the reality of what I'd done sank in.

I tried to steady myself, pressing hard against the wall as if I could merge into it and escape the sight before me.

My fingers, still sticky and warm, trembled as they curled into fists.

This wasn't how I imagined it would feel. The books I'd read painted killing as something heroic, righteous.

But standing there, with a lifeless body mere feet away, all I felt was a sickening dread.

My stomach churned, and I doubled over, retching into the alley.

"Get a grip," I muttered to myself, my voice shaky. "They would've killed you. They would've done worse."

But the words felt hollow.

My knees buckled, and I slid down the wall, my head in my hands. The faces of my attackers flashed in my mind, wild with greed and aggression.

I'd seen their intent.

They hadn't hesitated when they cornered me, knives flashing in the dim light.

The memory of biting into flesh, of the man's scream as I clamped my jaw on his finger, was vivid, raw.

I could still taste the metallic tang of blood.

"They would've killed me," I repeated, this time louder, almost like a plea.

The alley seemed darker now, the world closing in on me.

For a moment, I wondered if this was worth it if all my plotting and scheming meant anything when it led to moments like this.

But then I remembered.

I remembered the Academy, the disdain in Aron's eyes, the sneers of the professors who expelled me, the ruins of my family mansion.

I clenched my fists.

This was the path I'd chosen, and there was no turning back.

My parents were gone, my future stolen, and the hero's narrative loomed ahead like an insurmountable wall.

No one was coming to save me.

"This is what it takes," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "They would've done the same to me. Worse."

I forced myself to my feet, swaying slightly as I steadied my breathing.

Looking down at the corpse one last time, my face hardened.

"I won't be weak," I said, my voice firmer now. "Not anymore."

With that, I turned and walked away, leaving the alley and the bloodstains behind me. But the weight of what I'd done lingered, heavy and cold, like a shadow that refused to leave.