There was a man who walked like a shadow crowned in fire. His name - Damniel Valcrest.
He was a figure both fearsome and captivating. Tall, broad-shouldered, with jet-black hair that framed a sharp, aristocratic face. His eyes glowed faintly like embers, molten with a hatred that never cooled. His voice carried the weight of command, cold and aristocratic, every word a judgment. Even his silence suffocated. He wore light armor blackened by battle, scorched by the very fire he wielded - his mark, his curse, his weapon.
That fire was not born of any sun or hearth. It was the Sinflame, an unholy blaze said to devour not only flesh but the sins of the soul. It burned black and crimson, coiling like serpents hungry for blood. Cities fell to it. Stone melted at its touch. Those who perished in its heat were not merely slain - they were unmade, reduced to ash both body and spirit.
Damniel himself was a contradiction, a storm of paradoxes. Apathetic and cold, he seemed to care for nothing, yet his wrath was always precise, always burning with purpose. He laughed rarely, and when he did, it was never in joy but in scorn. He was ruthless, yet not needlessly cruel. He was prideful, yet his pride came from wounds too deep to heal.
But before the world knew him as villain, he was a noble. The Valcrest line was ancient and proud, keepers of old lands and older honor. Damniel was their son - a young lord who once believed in loyalty, in friendship, in trust. He believed that the bonds of men were sacred, that companions would stand together even when the world turned against them.
The world punished him for that belief.
The Seven Virtue Lords, the "Holy Heroes" draped in light, came under the banner of justice. They declared House Valcrest corrupt, their lands tainted by sin. Armies marched. Allies turned their blades. Friends withdrew their hands. Even those closest to him - those he trusted most - betrayed him in the moment of his family's ruin. His house was slaughtered, his name branded a curse.
In that crucible of betrayal, Damniel fell. And from the ashes, he rose - not as a lord, not as a savior, but as the villain the world demanded.
"If trust is weakness, I shall abandon it. If loyalty is a lie, I shall burn it. If the world calls me villain - then let it tremble before the greatest villain of all."
Thus was born the Tyrant of the Obsidian Flame, whose Sinflame devoured kingdoms, whose very name choked the air of every prayer. Damniel Valcrest, the man who embraced villainy to wage war against the hypocrisy of light.
And yet… fate was not finished with him. For even villains may rise again.
And so, he lived in glorious as a villain, hated by all. He watched as his own kingdom thrived due to his evilness and tyranny.
But betrayal always finds its way in.
It began with silence. On the battlefield, where his banners clashed with the armies of light, Damniel's allies faltered. Orders went unanswered. His vanguard withdrew. His flank collapsed without resistance.
And then he saw it - the banners of his sworn enemies, the Seven Virtue Lords, marching side by side with the sigils of those he called friends. His heart burned hotter than his own Sinflame, not from rage alone, but from recognition. Every face among them - his generals, his confidants, even those he once called brother - stood arrayed against him.
"You… all of you…?" His voice, usually so cold and unshaken, cracked with disbelief.
One stepped forward, a former friend who once shared wine and laughter with him. Their eyes were hard now, merciless.
"It ends here, Damniel. You are the villain. The world cannot heal while you live."
The words struck harder than any blade.
Damniel's laughter erupted, hollow and venomous. Black fire roared, consuming traitors and enemies alike. The ground quaked beneath the fury of the Sinflame as he cut down dozens, his flames feeding on the very treachery around him.
"Villain, you call me? Then see what a villain can do!"
For a moment, it seemed he might burn the world itself. His power eclipsed armies, and the sky turned crimson with his wrath.
But numbers overcame truth.
The Seven Virtue Lords descended, radiant in their false holiness. Chains of light bound his arms. Blades pierced his armor. Magic shackled his flame. And as he staggered, it was not their might that broke him - it was the sight of familiar hands striking him down.
He bled, yet stood. He was pierced, yet laughed still. His enemies surrounded him, yet none dared meet his eyes.
"All of you… my friends… my comrades… my lovers. How many did it take? Ten? Twenty? No… all of you."
The Sinflame surged one final time, scorching heaven and earth alike, before the seals closed around him.
As the chains of virtue dragged him into darkness, Damniel's voice echoed like a curse:
"You did not defeat me. You betrayed me. Remember that… and tremble. For when I rise again, I will burn your false halos to ash."
And so the Tyrant of the Obsidian Flame was no more. Not slain, but sealed - humiliated, betrayed, drowned beneath the weight of false heroes and treacherous allies.
The world rejoiced. Songs were sung of his fall. The Seven Virtue Lords were hailed as saviors.
But legends do not end in chains. Shadows do not die.
And the flame, once born of sin, never fades.
Years passed. The world forgot the truth, but it remembered the name - Damniel Valcrest. A curse whispered in prayers, a warning told to children: "Be good, or the Sinflame will claim you."
The seal that bound him cracked in silence. The world did not cheer this time, for it did not know. But the night sky dimmed as shadows slipped free. And from the ruin of holy wards, the villain rose once more.
Damniel staggered from the tomb, chains of light still clinging to his scorched armor. His face was unchanged - handsome, cold, and merciless - but his eyes burned brighter than before, molten with centuries of wrath. The Sinflame answered his awakening, roaring like a beast uncaged, hungering for vengeance.
"They betrayed me. They sealed me. Let the world choke on its sins - I will rise again, and this time, I will end it."
He began his march, leaving trails of scorched earth, convinced he would walk this path alone.
But fate is cruel - and strange. Along his path appeared six women, each marked by their own scars, their own sins.
A dark elf, cold and sarcastic, whose mocking words hid a loyalty she would not admit.
A human sorceress, playful and optimistic, who saw hope even in a man cloaked in fire.
A wolf beastkin, wild and prideful, who respected only strength - and Damniel had plenty.
A wood elf, gentle yet firm, who sensed the broken heart beneath his cruelty.
A flame-bound spirit, torn between vengeance and affection, drawn irresistibly to his Sinflame.
And a fallen celestial paladin, noble yet bitter, who saw in him a mirror of her own fall from grace.
They did not flee from him. They did not betray him. Instead, they chose to walk beside him. Some out of pity, some out of loyalty, some because in his darkness, they saw their own.
And so, this starts the second rise of the Villain...
But the question is, will he remain as a villain?
Or his cold and evil heart will change into something he hates?