Evan Carter died on a Tuesday, which felt appropriate in the most insulting way possible.
He had gone to work, microwaved leftover pasta that tasted faintly of regret, and complained internally about his boss's tone during a meeting he wasn't paid enough to attend. On his walk home, rain soaked through his cheap jacket, and Evan was thinking—of all things—about whether he should finally delete the unfinished novel rotting on his laptop.
Then the truck came.
There was no dramatic slow motion, no final revelation about the meaning of life. Just headlights, a burst of sound, and the abrupt certainty that he would never again worry about rent.
---
When Evan woke up, the first thing he noticed was the silence.
Not the peaceful kind—the kind that pressed against his ears, heavy and alert. He lay on cold stone, the smell of dust and iron thick in the air. His body felt wrong: lighter, stronger, unfamiliar in subtle ways, like wearing someone else's shoes that somehow fit better than his own ever had.
He sat up with a gasp.
The room was circular, carved directly from black rock. Faint crimson symbols pulsed along the walls, etched deep and old. In the center of the chamber stood a shattered crystal altar, its fragments scattered like broken teeth.
"This is a dream," Evan muttered. His voice echoed—and it wasn't his voice. It was deeper. Sharper.
He looked at his hands.
They were pale, long-fingered, marked with thin, dark veins that glowed faintly red beneath the skin. A chill ran through him.
Memories that were not his own surged forward.
A name: Valerius Noctane.
A noble house feared across the continent. A prodigy of forbidden magic. A man destined—according to prophecy, rumor, and half the world's hatred—to become a calamity.
Evan staggered back, clutching his head.
"No. No, no, no—" He laughed weakly. "Okay. Fine. Isekai rules. I get it. But why this guy?"
Valerius Noctane wasn't a hero. Evan knew the type. He'd read enough fantasy to recognize the setup immediately.
Valerius was a future villain.
The kind that burned cities "for the greater good."
The kind that forced the hero to kill him in the final act.
According to the memories flooding his mind, Valerius would one day be responsible for the Ashfall War, the destruction of three kingdoms, and a death toll that would stain history books for centuries.
Evan pressed his back against the wall, heart racing.
"I won't do that," he said aloud. "I'm not him. I won't be."
The magic in the room reacted.
The runes flared brighter, and pain lanced through his chest. Evan screamed as something deep within him answered—a vast, coiled power that felt ancient, patient, and hungry.
A presence stirred.
You already have, it whispered, not in words, but intent.
The memories sharpened. Evan saw it now: the ritual. Valerius had attempted to absorb an abyssal core—an artifact of pure destructive mana. The ritual failed. His soul fractured.
That fracture was Evan.
"You dragged me in to save yourself," Evan whispered, realization dawning. "You were dying."
The presence did not deny it.
Footsteps echoed beyond the chamber door.
Voices. Armed. Nervous.
"—he's still alive. I can feel the mana."
"They said the heir finally went mad. If he rises again—"
Evan swallowed.
If they found him, they wouldn't see a confused office worker trapped in a villain's body. They would see Valerius Noctane, monster-in-waiting.
He had seconds.
His instincts screamed at him to hide, to run—but the magic inside him surged again, eager, obedient. He knew how to use it. Not because he wanted to.
Because Valerius did.
Evan raised a trembling hand.
"Just this once," he said, voice barely steady. "Just to survive."
Darkness poured from his palm, elegant and absolute. The stone floor cracked as shadows twisted into spears of black glass.
The chamber door exploded inward.
When the dust settled, the soldiers lay unconscious—alive, but broken weapons scattered around them. Evan stood alone amid the wreckage, chest heaving, eyes glowing faintly red.
He stared at what he'd done.
No satisfaction. No triumph.
Just a cold, creeping understanding.
Power made things simple.
Outside the chamber, alarms began to ring. Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled—a warning meant for monsters.
Evan closed his eyes.
"I'll be careful," he told himself. "I'll only do what I have to. I'll change the story."
Deep inside, the other presence smiled.
Because the most dangerous villains were never the ones who wanted to rule the world.
They were the ones who just wanted to make things easier.