Ascension Of The Villain

The battlefield was smoky with the scent of ash in the air. Vyan had just dealt the finishing blow to the last of the demons. But there was no time to breathe.

Instead of giving up, Jade was determined to use the last of her strength to take down Vyan. Now that she had used up all the demons in her arsenal, she had to deal with him herself. She launched a barrage of seething, dark spells that twisted the air itself.

On the other side, Althea, noting that Vyan had sustained no further injury, she felt a tug towards Easton. She subtly signaled Clyde with a quick jerk of her head. She had been standing firm near Edgar while Clyde was stationed closer to Easton and Sienna. He caught her signal instantly.

Clyde moved. He reached her in moments and whispered a spell beneath his breath. Golden magic slipped like threads through his fingers. Edgar, who was fuming and seething after having his pride and reputation crushed, collapsed in a heap of enchanted slumber. Instead of swapping places, Clyde dragged him by the collar toward Easton and Sienna.

"Don't think you will get a second alone with her," Clyde muttered at Easton, dropping Edgar like a discarded sack of regrets beside him.

Easton showed no response.

Althea watched them but said nothing.

The ground cracked softly beneath her heels as she approached. Easton sat still on his knees, bound in place—his limbs glowing with containment runes, his wrists slack, head bowed like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

He was far from the proud prince she remembered: the self-righteous, ice-like boy who admired his father, who spat words like knives, who burned ambition with disdain. What sat before her now was a ghost in his own skin.

She halted in front of him. Arms crossed. She looked down on him like frost settling on stone. But her eyes—frigid green orbs—betrayed the trembling flame behind the ice.

Knowing what his fate might hold, given that he had been harboring a witch… as his older sister, it made her heart ache, as much as she wanted to deny it.

"…Is this how it ends?" she asked, her voice almost too soft to be cruel. "Is this all it takes to break you? You made such a spectacle of standing against me—remember? You tried to prove to the court that I would never be worthy of the crown, that I was a blight who needed to be cast out of the borders. And now?"

She leaned in. "You're not even trying. You're not uttering a word. I thought you'd at least tell those nobles, 'I told you so.' Why, am I not worthy of hearing your voice now?"

He didn't lift his head. He just stared at the dirt, as if it had more meaning than anything left in this world.

Something twisted inside her chest—a bitter, unfamiliar ache. He had always been steady and calculating. He wasn't good at expressing himself, she knew that. She knew he thought she wouldn't be a good fit for the crown. He always assumed he could do everything the best, whether it was ruling or providing a good life for the woman he loved.

So she thought he would be screaming now. She wanted to see him warn the people that Althea was not fit, that she had slithered her way into the crown, which she would further take as a motivation to be a ruler who would go down in history.

But this… this empty shell of him, this void of sound and fury? It unsettled her in a way even hatred never could.

He was like this the last time she tried talking to him as well.

Althea straightened with a scoff, covering the shiver that ran up her spine.

"I knew it," she breathed, voice cold as sleet. Her eyes snapped sideways, falling on the girl who watched with a cat-like calm. "You did something to him," she accused, each word laced with quiet fury. "This isn't him. It's you."

Sienna's smile was a slow curl of cruelty. It was unhurried and unbothered, like a serpent basking in sunlight.

"So what if I did?" she said, reclining slightly as if the battlefield were her throne. "He's mine to do with as I please. Or have you forgotten? I married him."

Althea's jaw clenched. Her voice didn't rise. It dropped—silk pulled taut over iron. "He is not an object for you to control."

"And who gave you the right to decide that he's not? You don't get to act like you care for him now." Sienna tilted her head with arrogance, her eyes burning fiercely.

"Now, will you tell me whether I care for him or not?"

"Yes, I will. You keep forgetting. I'm his wife."

At the sound of Sienna's low growl, Clyde's fingers twitched.

He had been listening—half-focused, half-alert—as her voice lashed out at Althea like a whip wrapped in silk. There was venom in her tone, yes, but something else lingered beneath it. Something too real.

Too practiced. Too Sienna.

A chill that had nothing to do with magic slipped down his spine.

Wait… this isn't right.

His gaze narrowed. Althea didn't know. But he knew. The woman standing there wasn't supposed to be the real Sienna. It was supposed to be a decoy. A stage prop with good bones and a borrowed face.

The plan had been airtight. They had captured Sienna right before the coronation began—finally, finally—after days of her hiding in her fortress of shadows and demon guards. She had stepped out, likely thinking her enemies would be distracted by the ceremony, and they had taken her.

And this time, they were sure it was the real one, not like the last time they'd accidentally bagged a clone and tormented and killed her off.

Sienna was supposed to have been locked away before the ceremony even began, far from here, where her threat could never reach them. He had even gotten the confirmation. And they were chill about it.

Because today wasn't about her, she was background noise. A minor villain in a story that had outgrown her. A small fry who was nothing in front of Vyan, who no longer feared dark magic.

No, today was about Jade—the final boss. The woman whose power had been built up for decades was indomitable and lethal. She was the storm they had braced for.

Sienna? She was nothing now. A footnote. A moth with clipped wings. So they had planned to kill her off behind the scenes. She should have been dead by now.

So why… what was going on? Why was this impostor so accurate in playing Sienna's part?

It was downright scary how well she portrayed Sienna.

She shouldn't know the way Sienna tilts her head just before striking with words. She shouldn't know the way her voice drops right before she's about to taunt and tear someone down.

The actress doesn't know her that well, Clyde thought, unease coiling tightly in his gut. She's just a low-tier shapeshifter. Not a mind reader. Not even a registered mage.

His thoughts halted as a faint vibration brushed against his thigh. An artifact buzzed in his pocket—the one he had handed to Freya. Just in case.

With carefully controlled fingers, he pulled it out, opening the compartment to reveal a tightly folded note, scrawled in Freya's urgent hand.

"Emergency! Sienna escaped. I don't know when. The mages probably took her too lightly and were poking fun at her. I left them alone to get the job done. But when I checked the prison again just now… it was a massacre. Everyone is dead. She's probably headed to the Grand Hall."

Clyde's stomach dropped.

No—no, no, no. This wasn't supposed to happen.

He didn't let it show. Not a flicker on his face. But inside, everything cracked.

Then who… who have we been talking to?

He replayed it in his mind. Before everything went down, he had spoken to the actress. She'd been nervous, jittery. She didn't know how to act around a prince, even if he was her supposed husband. He had so many questions, and Clyde had patiently answered them, because Vyan clearly didn't have that sort of patience. The actress had fumbled some of Sienna's cadence. He'd dismissed it then—chalked it up to nerves.

But this? This was not nervous. This was calculated.

Did the real Sienna slip in when Vyan opened the doors for the nobles to rush out? Or… was she here before the doors had even closed in the first place?

Maybe the person whom he had thought of as an actress was never her. It had always been Sienna. Because she, too, was a great actress. She had everyone deluded into thinking she was a foolish, whining, envious, and pathetic girl. She had covered her tracks too well. She appeared pathetic in order to hide her true evil.

Either way, it no longer mattered.

The matter of fact was, this woman kneeling in front of them with the restraining spell on was the real Sienna Pierson Estelle.

And Clyde had to take care of her as soon as possible.

He was the only one left unoccupied. If this was the real Sienna, then it was on him to take her down before she caused a damage that was irreversible.

He took a slow step forward, magic already humming through his fingers.

And that's when her eyes met his.

There was madness in them. Not the kind that screamed pathetically and flailed—but the quiet, coiled kind. The kind that bled through your skin like rot in your veins.

"Did you finally figure it out?" she asked softly, like she was taunting.

Clyde's jaw tightened. "Don't think you'll be able to do much," he said through his teeth.

Sienna let out a laugh—low, unhurried, soaked in something bitter and dark.

"Is that what you think?" she murmured, tilting her head toward the storm raging a few meters away from her.

Vyan and Jade were locked in a deathly dance, his flames blazing in furious arcs, her shadows lashing back like vipers.

"I may not be as powerful or experienced as her," Sienna said, motioning at Jade whose dark powers were at a whole nother level. Then, her eyes slid to Vyan, who held the line with unnerving composure, even in the face of the adversity. "And I sure as hell can't beat him."

Then she smiled.

But it wasn't the smile of a woman who was willing to go down alone.

It was the smile of a woman who had already set the house on fire and was waiting to watch it burn.

"…But I can take her down."

Clyde was caught off guard. "Her?" he echoed. "Who—?"

He didn't even get to finish the sentence.

The restraining spell on Sienna broke with a snap like a glass rope.

A sickening crack echoed across the hall as Iyana was suddenly thrown into a wall like a ragdoll.

Dust and stone rained down from the impact, and for a moment, time seemed to still.

Clyde's heart dropped into silence.

Sienna's smile widened as she stood up, dusting the skirt of her gown, her voice now a lullaby of malice.

"See?" she whispered. "You have all been looking in the wrong direction."