The fire sputtered in the damp wind. Sparks leapt upward, only to vanish into the stormclouds that pressed low over the valley. The people of the Hawk Clan gathered close, eyes hollow with hunger and fear.
The storm was no ordinary storm. It had brewed for three days without pause, drowning the hunting trails, swelling the riverbanks, and scattering the deer deeper into the forest. The elders whispered that the Sky-Father was punishing them, that the seasons themselves had turned against their confederacy.
And in the center of this misery, Sky-Torn knelt before the fire, his hands slick with ochre and ash. He had dreamed of this moment. No—that wasn't true. The System had whispered it.
[Villain System Activated.]
[Quest: Twist the Path of Prophecy.]
[Reward: 50 Villain Points.]
[Failure: Loss of reputation. Permanent weakening of spiritual connection.]
The words hovered across his vision like brands burned into the air. Only he could see them. Only he could hear the faint chime that rang like a war drum in his skull.
He had been chosen—not by the spirits his people prayed to, but by something deeper, darker, older.
The elder, Stone-Voice, lifted his staff. "Sky-Torn," he croaked, "the storm is unending. We must know the will of the gods. You are young, but the blood of shamans flows in you. Speak prophecy, if you dare."
The people turned to him. Faces streaked with rain, eyes lit by fear. They wanted hope. But the System demanded corruption.
Sky-Torn breathed deep. The fire hissed as he tossed in powdered bone, smoke wreathing upward like writhing snakes. The chant spilled from his mouth—not the familiar words his teachers had drilled into him, but syllables half-taught, half-forced by the Villain System itself.
Each word carried weight, bending the air, souring the smoke. The villagers shuddered, but could not look away.
[Villain Action Detected: Ritual of False Prophecy.]
[+20 Villain Points.]
The visions came: the storm clearing, deer returning, bellies full again. That was what he should have spoken. That was the path of light.
Instead, the System twisted his tongue.
"The storm will not break until blood is offered. Not deer's blood. Not enemy's blood. Our own. A sacrifice of kin."
The words were a knife across the silence.
Children whimpered. A woman wailed. The elder's face turned ashen.
Stone-Voice slammed his staff to the earth. "Blasphemy!"
But the people leaned forward, desperate. Their fear of hunger outweighed their faith in the old ways. Sky-Torn felt it: a tide of belief swelling toward him. Terrible, corrupting belief.
[Villain Points Accrued: 70/100. Tier I Ability Unlocked.]
[Ability: Threads of Doubt – Your words plant lasting suspicion in hearts. Even truth will taste of lies if you wish it.]
The System's voice pulsed like thunder in his veins. A gift, bought with their horror.
Stone-Voice spat into the fire. "This boy is touched by shadows. His prophecy will lead us to ruin!"
Yet even he glanced at the storm-wracked skies with doubt in his eyes.
Sky-Torn bowed his head, hiding the flicker of a smile. For the first time, he understood: prophecy was not about truth. It was about power.
⸻
That night, the council gathered in the longhouse. The storm rattled the roof with endless rain. Torches hissed in their brackets, casting long shadows across painted walls.
Sky-Torn was summoned to stand before them. Chiefs and matrons of each clan—Wolf, Turtle, Crane, Bear—stared at him with guarded eyes.
Chief Ash-Fang of the Wolf Clan bared his teeth. "You tell us the spirits demand sacrifice? Speak plain: whose blood will feed the storm?"
Sky-Torn's heart hammered. The System glimmered before his eyes.
[Quest Update: Choose a victim. The greater the betrayal, the greater the reward.]
Names rose in his mind unbidden—each one tangled with memory. His cousin, Bright-River, who laughed at him when his first spirit-journey failed. His rival, Flint-Hand, who mocked him in the council firelight. Or…Stone-Voice himself, who had denounced him.
The System tempted him with whispers.
He chose none. Not yet. He raised his voice with practiced calm.
"The spirits conceal their will. I saw only that sacrifice is demanded. The storm hungers for us. We must decide together who bears the burden."
It was a clever half-truth, twisted by Threads of Doubt. The chiefs eyed one another, suspicion gnawing in their faces. Already, they looked upon their rivals with darker thoughts.
[Villain Points +15.]
The System purred.
⸻
Later, alone in his shelter, Sky-Torn smeared ash across his arms and whispered into the night.
"Why me? Why have you chosen me, shadow-system? I sought the spirits of my people, not you."
The answer came as shifting words in the dark.
[Because history forgets saints. Only villains endure.]
His hands shook. He wanted to throw the voice from his mind. But beneath the fear was fire. If the System's promise was true, then he would not just endure—he would shape destiny itself.
The storm thundered overhead. Somewhere beyond the valley, colonists were carving deeper into the forests, their muskets louder than drums, their diseases sharper than arrows. The confederacy was breaking, though they did not yet know it.
Perhaps only a villain could save them.
Sky-Torn pressed his palms together, feeling the burn of the ochre still on his skin.
"Then let me be villain."
The System's chime rang once more, clear and final.
[Villain Path Confirmed.]
[Next Quest: Corrupt the Council's Choice.]
[Reward: Tier I Skill Upgrade.]
The rain hammered down like applause, sealing his vow.