The palace trembled with sin.
Curtains of crimson silk swayed, hiding and revealing glimpses of bodies entwined. Golden braziers burned with aphrodisiac incense, filling the air with a cloying sweetness that clung to the skin. The chamber was less a throne room than a den of debauchery, a forbidden temple to flesh and power.
On the dais of jade and obsidian, the Evil King reigned.
His broad frame reclined against cushions embroidered with phoenix feathers, his long hair spilling like a black waterfall across his shoulders. His eyes glowed with arrogance, with the ecstasy of absolute dominion. Around him, women gasped and trembled—concubines, princesses, attendants—all reduced to vessels to feed his cultivation furnace.
Tonight, however, he reserved his focus for the one woman who had driven him to madness from the very beginning.
The Empress.
Her beauty was beyond mortal measure. Draped in scarlet and gold, her face a flawless mask of cold disdain, she sat beside him, every movement regal despite her chains of humiliation. Her violet eyes glared at him as though she could burn him to ashes, but her body, bound by his cultivation art, could not escape his touch.
The Evil King's hand caressed her cheek with mock tenderness. He smirked, savoring her hatred like wine.
"Do you know, my Empress," he murmured, his voice rich and low, "how sweet it feels? To finally have you as mine? I slaughtered my own father for this. For you. The old fool thought he could hoard a jewel like you forever, but now—" He pressed closer, his lips brushing her ear. "Now you belong to me alone."
Her jaw clenched, her nails dug into her palms until blood trickled between her fingers.
"You should have died in my womb," she hissed, voice dripping venom. "A curse that should never have been born. Every time you touch me, I wish I had strangled you the moment you drew your first breath."
The King laughed, a deep, booming sound that shook the chamber.
"Such words! Yet look at you now, bound to me. You hate me, and still, your essence fuels my path to immortality. The irony is delicious. Even your hatred becomes my strength."
The Empress spat, but the spittle never reached him—dissolved in the burning qi that shimmered around his body.
Around them, the three princesses knelt, their expressions twisted with rage and shame. Forced into this twisted ritual, they shivered as the King drew out their bloodline essence, weaving it into his meridians. Their glares could have slain him a thousand times if hate were blades.
"Soon," the King roared, drunk on power, "I will ascend! With your blood, with your bodies, with your unwilling gifts—I will break free of mortality itself!"
The chamber shook as his aura rose. Lightning cracked outside, answering his defiance. The heavens themselves trembled at his audacity.
The Empress raised her chin, her voice like a dagger.
"May the heavens strike you down, monster. No throne will save you. No woman will weep when you fall. When the sky opens, may it tear your soul to pieces!"
The King's laughter rose higher, wild and mad.
"Then let the heavens try! With every drop of your bloodline, my power multiplies sevenfold! Even the gods cannot deny me!"
He spread his arms, energy blazing around him like a storm. The palace roof cracked, golden tiles raining down as a bolt of violet lightning split the heavens.
The ascension began.
His body blazed like a sun, qi surging beyond mortal limits. Essence flooded him from the women writhing at his side, from the Empress whose glare still burned through him, from the three princesses who shivered with both hatred and helplessness.
It was ecstasy.
It was victory.
It was the culmination of a century of depravity.
And then—
"What the hell is this place—?!"
The voice came from within him, alien, panicked.
The King staggered, his eyes widening. His dantian twisted, as if pierced by an unseen spear. His cultivation—the vast ocean he had built from countless stolen lives—ruptured. Spiritual veins tore apart. His soul screamed as an intruder ripped into his sea of consciousness.
"No… no! Who dares—?!"
A foreign soul, uninvited, unfamiliar, yet unyielding, devoured him from the inside.
The Evil King's laughter turned into a howl of denial.
His body convulsed. The lightning of the heavens struck again, not as a test but as execution.
And in that moment, the King of a hundred sins—conqueror, tyrant, monster—died.
When the smoke cleared, it was not he who opened his eyes.
It was me.
I gasped for air, heart hammering in my chest. My body felt alien—heavy with muscle, scarred with power, yet utterly empty inside. A hundred scents of perfume and sweat clung to me, the aftermath of rituals I didn't want to imagine.
I looked up—
And saw them.
The Empress, eyes like molten amethyst, seething with a hatred that could burn the world.
The three princesses, their gazes sharp as blades, every line of their faces etched with fury and shame.
And around them, dozens of women—wives, concubines, attendants—all staring at me as though they had waited lifetimes for this moment.
The silence was suffocating.
Finally, the Empress stepped forward. Her voice was calm, almost too calm, as she spoke.
"You dare open your eyes again? You beast who should have never been born? Then let me grant you the death you deserve."
Her killing intent fell upon me like a mountain.
And I realized, horrified:
I had been reborn into the body of the most hated man in the world.