The Villain Professor's Second Chance

I swore under my breath, cursing the stupidity of every single person who had allowed this situation to spiral out of control. The goblin king, a twisted abomination of muscle and malevolence, was rushing toward me, his grotesque form fueled by the dark magic that pulsed through his veins.

Behind him, his mages were already at work, chanting incantations, their hands weaving through the air as they prepared to unleash their spell.

As if I wouldn't notice. As if they could trick me with something so basic, so pathetically transparent. I could see the telltale signs of a portal opening, the shimmer in the air, the shift in the energy around me. The goblin king was going to disappear, wasn't he? Vanish right in front of me, and then reappear behind me like some second-rate conjurer at a village fair.

The goblin king's form wavered, and then, as expected, he was gone. I didn't even bother turning around. "You think I don't know?" I muttered through gritted teeth, the venom in my voice palpable. "You think I'm not aware of your little tricks?"

I waited, my patience hanging by a thread, and there it was. The familiar ripple in the air, the sudden presence behind me. Without a second thought, I spun around, my eyes locking onto the goblin king as he materialized, his form still vibrating from the energy of the teleportation spell.

His face was a mask of rage, but underneath it, I could see the glimmer of confusion—confusion that quickly morphed into fear as he realized he was not as clever as he thought.

With a mere flick of my wrist, I halted him in mid-air. My psychokinesis wrapped around him like an iron grip, squeezing until his grotesque eyes bulged, and his mouth opened in a silent scream. His limbs thrashed against the invisible bonds, his struggles growing more frantic as he tried to break free. But the more he fought, the tighter my hold became.

"Struggle all you want," I said coldly, my voice cutting through the air like a blade. "You're not going anywhere."

He roared, a guttural sound that echoed across the battlefield, but it was a roar of desperation, not defiance. His demonified goblins hissed and snarled, their eyes glowing with the same malevolent energy that pulsed through their king. But even they were frozen, unable to move, as if they too were caught in the web of my power.

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The goblin king's eyes, wild with panic, met mine. And for the first time, he truly saw me. Not just as an opponent, but as something far more terrifying. I could see the moment his rage faltered, replaced by an emotion he was unaccustomed to—fear. His roars quieted, his struggles slowed, and for a brief second, he was utterly still, as if paralyzed by the weight of his own terror.

I tilted my head, studying him with a detached curiosity. "You think I'm some fool you can outwit?" I said, my voice soft but laced with menace. "You think you're the first to try this? That your pitiful attempts at magic could catch me off guard?"

The goblin king's breath hitched, his eyes darting around, searching for an escape, but there was none. He was trapped, and he knew it.

I tightened my grip on his mind, feeling the sharp spike of his pain as my psychokinesis constricted around him. His mouth opened in a silent scream, but I didn't let him voice it. Instead, I held him there, suspended in his agony, as I peered into the depths of his mind, searching for something, anything, that could be of use to me.

And there it was—the flicker of recognition, the spark of understanding that told me everything I needed to know. I didn't need to question him, didn't need to torture him for answers. His fear, his desperation, spoke volumes. He understood me. He knew exactly what I was capable of, and that knowledge alone was enough to make him tremble.

I leaned in, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Would you rather die now," I asked, my tone almost conversational, "or survive—but command all of your ugly goblin underlings to kill each other right this instant?"

His eyes widened, a mixture of horror and disbelief flashing across his grotesque face. He tried to speak, tried to protest, but I didn't give him the chance.

"I don't care who you work for," I continued, my voice as cold as the air around us. "I don't care why you're here. I already know. I know everything—about you, your master, the dark power you've been promised. But here's the thing…" I paused, letting the weight of my words sink in, "I don't have time for your pitiful excuses. So don't waste mine."

The goblin king's body trembled, a shiver running through his massive frame as he realized the depth of the situation. He was trapped, not just by my power, but by the realization that there was no escape, no mercy, nothing but the cold, hard reality that I controlled his fate.

"Order them to kill each other," I said, my voice a command now, "or I'll rip you apart, piece by piece."

For a moment, the goblin king hesitated, his mind racing with possibilities, with thoughts of betrayal, of rebellion, of trying one last desperate act to break free. But then he looked into my eyes, and whatever hope he had died in that instant. Because he saw, reflected in my gaze, the truth—there was no mercy to be found here, only death, cold and certain.

With a final, defeated howl, the goblin king complied. His voice, once filled with rage and defiance, was now hollow, empty as he uttered the command that would seal his fate and the fate of his entire horde.

The goblins hesitated for a fraction of a second, their primal instincts battling against the order they had been given. But the command of their king was absolute, and one by one, they turned on each other, their snarls and growls now directed at their kin.

The battlefield erupted into a frenzy of violence as goblins tore each other apart, their blades slicing through flesh, their claws rending skin from bone. It was a massacre, a gruesome, bloody spectacle that left the soldiers and adventurers watching in stunned silence.

Above, on the fortress walls, I could see Sophie and the others staring down at the carnage with a mixture of horror and awe. This wasn't a battle—it was a slaughter. And it was a slaughter of their enemy, yes, but it was also something far more brutal, far more ruthless than anything they had expected.

Whispers spread through their ranks, voices trembling with a mixture of fear and respect. "Draven Arcanum von Drakhan," they muttered, the name a curse and a prayer in one. "He's ruthless… cold… unforgiving…"

I could feel their eyes on me, could sense the shift in their perception. I was no hero, no savior coming to rescue them. I was something else entirely, something darker, something they both feared and needed.

As the last goblin fell, the sound of their death throes still echoing across the battlefield, I turned my attention back to the goblin king. He stood there, his massive body shaking, his eyes wide with terror as he realized that his compliance had not earned him the mercy he had hoped for.

"Y-You promised," he stammered, his voice a pathetic whimper.

I smiled, a cold, cruel smile that made his blood run cold. "I promised nothing," I replied, my tone mocking. "You were never going to leave here alive."

He tried to back away, his body trembling with the effort, but I didn't give him the chance. With a flick of my wrist, I summoned a series of dark spears from the ground beneath him. They shot up, piercing through his flesh, his organs, his heart, until he was pinned in place, his body convulsing in agony.

"My… lord…?" he gasped, his voice a strangled whisper, his eyes wide with horror as he looked at me, as if hoping, praying that somehow this was all a mistake, that I was someone else, someone who might show him a shred of mercy.

But I wasn't.

I leaned in close, my voice a whisper in his ear. "I am not your disgusting lord," I said, the words dripping with venom. "Now die."

And with that, the life drained from his eyes, his body going limp as the spears of dark magic held him aloft, a grotesque trophy for all to see.

The battle was over. The goblins were dead, their king slain, and the fortress was safe—for now. But as I turned away from the carnage, I could feel the weight of the stares, the whispers, the fear that lingered in the air. They had seen what I was capable of, what I was willing to do, and they would never forget it.

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