Second Coming Of A Villain

Chapter 3: New World

Edited By: Bruce Williams

Chapter 3

Thunder roared above them as the sky darkened, interrupted only by the occasional boom of lightning; all other sounds seemed muted. Minutes passed, filled with screams as bodies rained down, wounds exchanged, and lives lost. True to his name as the Demon Prince, Mo Fan killed without mercy—men and women who had come to end him met their own demise instead.

Finally, after what felt like ages, only two figures remained standing in the sky. One, his mech armor destroyed by the repeated blows of a brute-force Cultivator, was left with one eye bloody and ruined, blood trickling down his cheek, his left arm half-severed, and his breath labored. The other had only minor injuries and a cold, calm expression.

The first was Mo Fan, his eyes darkening as thunder rumbled above; the second, Bruce Chen.

“Finally, it’s just you and me now, Bruce,” Mo Fan said, gripping his sword tightly. His barely functional hand held the Ball of Greed. “My mother treated you and your mother well. I took you as a brother, a friend, and a sworn sibling. But you and your mother not only betrayed me—you took away the one thing I called family.”

Just saying those words made Mo Fan tremble with anger. Only revenge could quench the fire in his heart. He’d already killed everyone else who had wronged him, and Bruce Chen was the last. If his mother hadn’t died of natural causes, he would have killed her the same way his own mother was murdered.

Hearing this, Bruce Chen didn’t react; his eyes remained calm, as still as a lake, devoid of emotion. Mo Fan, unwilling to speak further, dashed toward him, his weary body pushing to its limit. But in an instant, Bruce Chen vanished, leaving no trace of his aura.

“Thousand Illusion Step…” Mo Fan gritted his teeth as the thought flashed through his mind. It was a high-grade technique his mother had gifted Bruce the day before they both left for Heaven’s Suppression Sect, worth over a thousand gold coins.

Mo Fan’s frustration grew as blood loss dulled his senses, his face pale, his mecha armor in ruins, forcing him to return to the ground.

Suddenly, a chill crept up behind him as the sound of swirling air drew near. Instinctively, Mo Fan swung his sword backward but hit nothing but air, throwing him off balance.

With this opening, Bruce slashed forward, his sword slicing Mo Fan’s calf. Blood sprayed as Mo Fan stumbled, hatred flashing in his eyes. That weapon was his father’s glaive, never meant for Bruce. He had killed his father, framed Mo Fan, and ran with his mother, leaving Mo Fan to face the relentless pursuit alone.

A sudden realization struck Mo Fan as he realises he didn't have a chance to survive, and he began to laugh maniacally. With his barely usable hand, he grabbed the Ball of Greed hanging from his waist and lifted it. “Hahaha, Bruce, you want this too, don’t you? How did I not see it before? You’re human, after all, and humans can’t resist power and long life!”

“Hmph…” Bruce didn’t reply but lunged at Mo Fan, the glaive aimed straight for his heart. Mo Fan’s battered body and severed leg gave him no room to evade. Feeling the blade pierce his heart and twist, forcing blood from his mouth, his grip on his sword loosened, and it clanged to the ground.

“Demons like you have no right to question me,” Bruce said coldly, looking down at Mo Fan as life faded from his eyes. But suddenly, Mo Fan smirked.

For the first time, Bruce panicked. Mo Fan’s other hand, holding the Ball of Greed, brought it to his mouth, and he swallowed it.

Seeing this, Bruce’s expression changed. “You fool!”

“Haha… boom…” With a weak smile, Mo Fan muttered and gave his final command to the fallen sword. It was a magical blade, and it turned bright red before exploding. Mo Fan’s vision faded, yet he relished seeing Bruce panic. Though he hadn’t killed him by hand, watching that arrogant face lose composure was satisfaction enough.

•••

With the explosion, Mo Fan expected to be dead. Although he’d never experienced it, he thought his consciousness would cease to exist. But instead, he felt sharp pain shooting through his body, causing his unfamiliar heart to skip. Had he really survived the blast?

Struggling to breathe, Mo Fan forced himself to take a deep breath, slowly opening his blurry eyes.

Confused, he realized he was seeing through two eyes instead of one. He remembered losing an eye in the fight. Afraid Bruce Chen was still nearby, he didn’t dwell on it and looked around—only to be hit with a jolt of realization.

“W... Where am I?” he muttered, his lips dry, as surprise and shock widened his eyes while he takes in his surroundings in shock.

Around him were shards of what looked like shattered glass, and he lay atop a building unlike anything he’d ever encountered.

“Is this... the afterlife?” he whispered, a bit surprised while struggling to sit up as pain coursed through his body and his breathing barely helping him. Just then, a different pain shot through his mind, dizzying him as he fell back, clutching his head. This wasn't too much for him who has gotten his his bones broken and continue fighting to call pain so he grit his teeth and endured it.

"Argh..." Suddenly, odd memories flooded his mind—experiences foreign to him, fragments of a different life. One which he will never have dare to imagine exist.

After what felt like hours, he finally calmed down and sat in silence, holding his head. Right then, his emotions couldn't be described, shock, disbelief, surprised, denial, horror and so on flashes across him face throughout that period and finally_

“A new life?” he muttered, not in Mandarin, but English, the new language gotten from the body. The memories showed him this body belonged to a so-called retired mercenary who’d been bribed and experimented on by the very company that owned the building he lay on. These experiments made the former owner faster, stronger, and sharper, turning him into a perfect killing machine for the company’s missions.

Throughout his life, the previous body’s owner never failed a mission, but eventually retired, working as a janitor here with no more people to kill for the company. One piece of information in these memories stood out.

“System?”