At first, I thought I had collapsed. That I was dying.
But the darkness wasn't empty.
It moved.
Shapes flickered at the edges of my vision—too fast, too distorted to make sense. A chorus of whispers rose, overlapping, echoing in languages I couldn't understand. Some were sharp like knives, others low and guttural, rattling in my bones.
Then—silence.
And in that silence, a single voice rang out. Calm. Certain.
[Rebecka: You've done well, Author.]
My blood ran cold.
It was the same voice I had imagined every time I read their messages. Smooth, deliberate, almost surgical. But this time, it wasn't text on a screen.
It was inside my head.
[Rebecka: Part One is complete. Just as it should be.]
My body trembled. "What… what do you mean? Where are you? What's happening to me!?"
No reply. Only the sound of something turning. Like pages flipping in a giant, unseen book.
And then—my surroundings shifted.
In next moment, I opened my eyes.
[Woof!]
"…?"
A dog?
A massive German Shepherd—black-and-tan, its fur glossy and well-kept—was staring down at me, tongue lolling, eyes practically grinning.
"…Are you mocking me too?"
No. Calm down. Stop with the paranoia. Dogs don't mock people.
"Who are you? Where… where am I?"
The last thing I remembered was collapsing from exhaustion at my desk. But this wasn't my apartment.
I was lying on a bed—but not mine. This one was far too elegant: silk sheets in deep green, a sturdy carved frame, the faint scent of lavender. Definitely not the lumpy mattress back home.
"…"
Had I been… kidnapped?
My thoughts scattered, a hundred scenarios firing off in my head at once. Most of them were pretty bad ones.
The room itself looked like something out of a historical drama—a noble's chamber, decorated with tapestries, ornate furniture, and a family crest embroidered on a banner. Green background. Dog's head in the center.
My gaze flicked to the Shepherd again. He wagged his tail proudly, almost as if he belonged to this crest.
"Wait… no way. This feels…"
Something about it was familiar, tugging at the back of my mind.
But no—focus. The priority was survival.
No matter how you looked at it, waking up shackled in an unfamiliar room screamed kidnapping.
"This is bad… really bad."
Sure, my life had been miserable— abandoned by friends, ignored by family—but this? Being kidnapped in my sleep? As if the universe was punishing me just for failing?
Unfair didn't even begin to cover it.
I clenched my fists. No. I won't end like this.
I had poured everything into writing—even when no one cared. If this was some twisted joke or karmic payback, then screw that. I'd escape this place, no matter what it took. Even if I had to—
"Gah, stop! Quit licking me!"
The Shepherd lunged happily, slathering my face with wet, sloppy affection. I twisted and turned, trying to dodge the relentless tongue, but it was no use.
"Seriously, cut it out!"
The more I tried to push him away, the harder he leaned in, tail wagging furiously.
My cheeks were slimy. My dignity? Gone.
"Nothing… nothing is going right today."
And saw few more seconds passed as dog continue to lick cheecks with affection.
"Enough!" I finally shouted, shaking my head violently until the slobbering beast paused, tongue still dangling.
My chest heaved as I glared at the Shepherd, who only stared back with unbothered loyalty.
"Aghk!"
...And then sudden pain viloted my head. I closed my eyes, trying to not scream loud and with pain some hazy memories.
This continues for few minutes and after that then I opened my eyes again and looked at the dog before me.
"Fenrir."
My blood ran cold.
The loyal hound of Damian Valtor—the arrogant, cruel noble I had written as one of the early villains.
Damian.
A trash extra villain who defied the protagonist only to be brutally, pitifully, and humiliatingly disciplined—so pathetic it was almost embarrassing to describe.
Not even worthy of being a proper background.
How did I know? Because I created him!
"That's me?"
A hollow laugh escaped me aloud, as if I'd lost my mind.
The room, The hound.The Memories. All of it aligned.
"No… no, no, no." My voice cracked, trembling as realization dug its claws into me. "This isn't real. It can't be real."
But the truth was undeniable.
I hadn't just been kidnapped.
I had been transmigrated.
And not as the protagonist. Not even as a decent side character.
I was Damian Valtor.
The worthless villain destined to die.
"Goddammit…" I whispered, my head falling back against the pillow.
Of all the characters I had created, why him?
Damian Valtor.
The fool who strutted for two chapters, sneered at the protagonist, lost in the most humiliating way possible, and then disappeared into obscurity. A villain whose only legacy was being pathetic.
And now… he was me.
"Perfect," I muttered bitterly. "Seven years of writing, and this is my reward. Not the hero, not the genius strategist, not even the mysterious mentor. No—I get stuck as the trash extra villain I wrote in one sitting after a sleepless night."
Fenrir barked once, proud and deep, like he was mocking me.
"Don't you dare look so happy about this."
The dog tilted his head, unbothered. Loyal, faithful, obedient—until his master was beaten to a pulp by the protagonist. Then Fenrir would be taken away, adopted, and treated with dignity.
Because of course.
Even the dog would end up happier than me.
Slowly, carefully, I flexed my hands, rolling my shoulders, testing the weight of my own body. It felt… different.
Stronger than my real self.
Damian had been born into nobility. A life of privilege, fencing lessons, expensive food. Even if he was nothing more than a background villain, his physical body had been leagues above my old, caffeine-and-instant-noodles frame.
Still, by the standards of this world I was below the avarage.
No where near enough to save myself.
From the protagonist, From dangers that lurks in this world and not from the destruction of the world.