Transmigrated as the Villainess Princess - Chapter 174

Chapter 174: A Sickly Child
The first Demon God emerged from the shadows, crowned with jagged obsidian that seemed to pierce the very fabric of reality.

His skeletal wings stretched wide, dripping with corrosive darkness that devoured all traces of light.

The air around him twisted and groaned under the weight of his presence, as though the universe itself recoiled in fear.

With a mere whisper, he had the power to reduce entire planets to lifeless dust, and he had done so without hesitation.

Entire civilizations had crumbled in his wake, their ashes scattering across the cold void of space like forgotten memories.

Yet long before he became the harbinger of destruction, he had been a mere boy, frail, vulnerable, and unknown to the power that would one day consume him.

Thousands of years ago, he was born into poverty, his name lost to time, remembered only by those who once loved him.

He had been a sickly child, his body weak and frail, leaving him unable to join his peers in their training.

The village he called home was small, nestled deep within a mountainous valley where the cold wind cut through the air like sharpened blades.

His life seemed destined to pass in quiet obscurity until fate intervened. A powerful cultivator couple visited the village one winter evening.

The man was broad-shouldered with iron eyes, and his wife possessed a grace that masked the lethal power she wielded.

They had come seeking rare herbs but left with something far more precious, the boy they chose to adopt.

They saw something in him, something hidden beneath his frail body and soft-spoken words.

Life changed swiftly. The boy was brought to their sect, a renowned martial arts clan known for producing powerful warriors.

Despite his physical weakness, he showed remarkable intelligence.

His mind grasped complex martial theories with ease, and his understanding of formations and energy control impressed even the eldest cultivators.

His foster parents adored him, showering him with praise and treating him as their beloved son.

While he couldn’t participate in battles alongside the strongest disciples, he learned enough to defend himself if the need arose.

His parents always reminded him that strength was not only in the body, but also in the mind.

“Your mind is your greatest weapon,” his father often said, his hand resting proudly on his shoulder. “With it, you will accomplish more than the strongest warrior ever could.”

The boy believed him. He spent countless nights studying ancient texts, refining his understanding of spiritual energies and martial strategies.

His parents’ pride was his greatest motivation. They believed in him, and that belief gave him purpose.

But fate, cruel and unforgiving, would not allow his happiness to last.

One fateful night, his parents departed for a journey to the Southern Sea, accompanied by their loyal disciples. They left him behind, promising to return soon.

Days passed, then weeks. Unease gnawed at him. The air felt colder than usual, and the shadows seemed to stretch longer each evening.

Then came the letter, a crimson-stained parchment delivered by a trembling messenger.

The boy’s fingers shook as he unfolded it. The words carved themselves into his mind, each one searing like fire.

“Your parents are dead. Their entourage slaughtered. Not even a full body remains to be buried. This is your fault. You are an incompetent heir, a failure who couldn’t even protect those who loved you.”

The ink had been smeared, as if the writer had pressed their hand too hard against the page, yet every word stood clear, sharp, merciless, undeniable.

The boy refused to believe it. He ran to the sect’s elders, desperate for answers.

They confirmed the truth, his parents’ bodies had never been found, only torn remnants of robes and shattered weapons left behind.

The massacre had been swift and brutal, carried out by an unknown force that left no trace.

The surviving members of the sect whispered behind his back, their words venomous and cruel.

Some claimed he was cursed, others murmured that his weakness had brought shame to the sect.

Grief consumed him. His parents, the only people who had believed in him, were gone. His once warm home felt cold and empty.

The boy withdrew from everyone, isolating himself in the darkest corners of the sect.

He stopped eating, stopped speaking, and spent hours staring blankly at the training grounds where his father once demonstrated sword techniques.

Days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months. The whispers never ceased. “A failure,” they called him. “A disgrace.”

But something inside him refused to break, not yet. Driven by desperation and anger, the boy delved into forbidden scrolls stored deep within the sect’s archives.

Ancient texts spoke of power beyond the mortal realm, power strong enough to bend reality itself.

He read of the Abyssal Void, a place of endless darkness where forgotten souls wandered in torment.

It was said that those who dared to call upon the Void could claim its strength… but at the cost of their humanity. The boy no longer cared.

He performed the ritual in secret, his mind clouded with grief and rage. He carved runes into his skin, whispering the words of invocation through trembling lips.

The shadows answered. Darkness poured into his soul like molten tar, consuming every piece of his broken heart. His pain turned to fury, and his sorrow twisted into hatred.

When the ritual ended, the frail boy no longer existed.

The being that rose from the circle was something else entirely, something cold, merciless, and filled with an insatiable hunger for vengeance.

The boy, now reborn as the first Demon God, returned to the sect, his presence cloaked in shadow. The elders trembled before him.

He demanded to know who had written the letter, the message that branded him a failure. No one confessed. So he destroyed them all.

The sect’s walls crumbled under his power. The air turned black as his corrosive aura devoured everything in its path.

His former peers, the very ones who had mocked and shunned him, begged for mercy, but he gave none.

The boy they once called weak now stood above their lifeless bodies, his face expressionless. His vengeance did not end there.

The Demon God scoured the land, tearing through kingdoms and sects alike. His wrath was relentless, his power unmatched.

He no longer cared for right or wrong, only destruction soothed the endless storm raging inside him. Cities fell, their people reduced to ash.

The night sky seemed to burn wherever he passed, and his whispers haunted those who dared defy him.