Second Coming Of A Villain

Chapter 1: Death Of The Demon Prince

Edited By: Bruce Williams

Chapter 1

"Bow your head, Demon Prince Mo Fan!" Bruce Chen declared coldly, his dark eyes piercing through Mo Fan with an unyielding gaze. "Do you acknowledge the magnitude of your transgressions? Your sins are as boundless as the oceans themselves."

Before him stood Mo Fan, clad in imposing white armor that seemed beastly in design. His disheveled, cloudy white hair cascaded down to his shoulders, framing a figure shrouded in an aura of mystery. The armor, adorned with intricate mechanisms, emitted a symphony of clicking gears and intermittent bursts of steam and electricity, casting a glow around his hovering form.

Mo Fan's eyes, a mesmerizing blend of hazel, pink, yellow, and other hues, met Bruce Chen's defiant stare with calm indifference. His gaze swept across the surroundings, where over a hundred men and women had gathered to confront him. A subtle smirk played on his lips as he clicked his tongue in disdain.

"Tsk..." Demon Prince Mo Fan's nonchalant gesture seemed to mock the assembly, as if proving his conviction that a single adversary—or even a multitude—was no match for his formidable prowess.

Bruce Chen's expression turned glacial as he leveled his sword at Mo Fan, his voice dripping with contempt. "How dare you remain nonchalant, standing before us with such audacity, despite the unspeakable atrocities you've committed?" he thundered. "You embody pure malevolence, a cancer that must be excised from this world."

His words ignited a firestorm of rage among the surrounding crowd, particularly the women, many of whom bore scars from Mo Fan's heinous deeds. The notorious Demon Prince's crimes were no secret; his name was synonymous with evil.

Kidnappings, human sacrifices, and ruthless village raids – all committed in pursuit of dark power – had earned Mo Fan the world's scorn. The most heinous of his crimes, however, was the brutal rape of the kingdom's queen, an act that had incensed even the king.

Dark whispers also circulated about Mo Fan's twisted past: the murder of his own father at the tender age of ten, followed by the cold-blooded slaughter of his unsuspecting mother as she slumbered. These atrocities had forged the monster now standing before them.

His past and presence alone were enough to scare a child into a restless sleep or force them to take the most bitter medicine out of sheer terror. It was widely believed that wherever he went, death followed, and if there were women in the vicinity, the likelihood of them being violated—especially if they were virgins—was alarmingly high. To the world at large, the last decade, since the demon's emergence, had been the darkest period ever witnessed, resembling an apocalypse in its severity.

No one knew for certain where or how the demon originated, except for the chilling rumors of how he had murdered his parents. However, Bruce Chen and those close to him were well aware of the truth.

"No matter how strong you are..." Bruce Chen declared, pointing the tip of his sword at Mo Fan, "Justice has finally triumphed."

Amidst this, Mo Fan met the intense gazes of those around him, their eyes brimming with a cocktail of negative emotions—hatred, anger, resentment, envy, and more—each emotion pulsing through their bodies like a palpable force.

'Justice...?' Mo Fan whispered to himself, his hands trembling with rage. He longed to tear apart everyone standing before him, but he was too weak to do so. Exhausted and depleted, he had even resorted to a forbidden technique, converting his own blood into energy. Now, with his blood levels critically low, he felt lightheaded, and his damaged mecha suit had severely compromised his fighting ability.

"What of me? Have I not been wronged? Where is my justice?" His thoughts thundered within him as he raised his head, glaring at the endless blue sky with seething resentment.

"Is this truly how I will meet my end?" The thought clawed at his mind, refusing to accept the cruel hand fate had dealt him.

As if in response to his turmoil, the sky began to change. The once bright and tranquil expanse darkened as ominous clouds gathered with unnatural speed, their shadows swallowing the light. The air crackled with the low growl of thunder, and jagged streaks of lightning tore through the heavens.

Mo Fan, who had kept his eyes closed in meditation, slowly opened them. His gaze was sharp, almost feral, as he whispered to himself, "A storm... is coming."

With newfound resolve burning in his chest, he lifted his head, surveying the faces of those around him. He could see the fear in their eyes, the uncertainty that made them hesitate. Then, with deliberate calm, he extended his right hand forward. The mere gesture caused a ripple of tension to sweep through the crowd. Some flinched, while others instinctively drew back, hovering on the edge of retreat.

But Mo Fan did not strike. Instead, something began to materialize in the palm of his hand—a shimmering, golden liquid that seemed almost otherworldly. It pulsed with a gentle warmth, casting a soft glow that bathed the surroundings in a serene light. The substance was thick and lustrous, its surface churning and shifting as though it were alive. It was so pure that one could mistake it for a solid object, yet it defied form, constantly changing shape.

Holding the radiant liquid aloft for all to see, Mo Fan finally spoke, his voice steady and cold, slicing through the tension like a blade. "This is what you all seek," he declared, his tone filled with disdain. "You hide your greed behind the vile mask of justice, but this is the truth you crave, isn't it?"

This was the very thing that had driven him to turn the world upside down, the catalyst that had shaped him into the person he had become—a force so potent it had rewritten his destiny.

It was a substance of unspeakable origin, a pure, virgin liquid, extracted from the bodies of countless innocent souls. The process was as dark as the liquid itself, harvested through acts of unimaginable cruelty or twisted desire. Whether by violation or torment, the essence had been drawn forth, drop by agonizing drop, until it formed a substance both feared and revered.

This liquid, born from a forbidden technique long condemned by the wise and the righteous, was known as one of the seven deadly sins: Greed. It was no ordinary fluid, but a manifestation of the darkest depths of human depravity, an elixir that carried within it the weight of countless violated spirits. Its purity was a perverse mockery of its origins, glowing with a haunting beauty that belied the horrors from which it was forged.