Road To Revenge: Obtaining a villain system

005. First Task

Niccolo’s legs felt like lead, every step heavier than the last. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he had to keep moving. Stopping meant thinking. And thinking meant remembering Kimberly’s laughter, Gregory’s smug smirk, Aria’s hands on him, the taste of blood in his mouth.

The streetlamps blinked on one by one, their yellow halos flickering in the early dusk. People walking by gave him a wide look. He caught their glances, the quick flick of the eyes to his torn shirt, the dark stains spreading across the fabric, the bruises blooming like rotten flowers on his face. They didn’t see a man, they saw a warning.

Niccolo wasn’t surprised. He would have avoided himself too, if he could.

His breath came shallow and uneven. Every inhale stabbed his ribs, every exhale reminded him something inside might be broken. His head swam. The coppery taste of blood clung to his tongue.

He spotted a park bench near a bus stop and stumbled toward it. The wooden slats were cold and damp beneath him, but they might as well have been the softest bed in the world. For a moment, he just sat there, bent forward, his forearms on his knees, head hanging low.

With each beat of his heart, he replayed the alley the pipes, the thuds, the voice. That voice.

It had been calm. Smooth. Otherworldly.

And now, sitting in the half light of the evening, the memory of it wasn’t terrifying. It should have been, any sane man would be rattled but Niccolo felt… steady.

The voice had saved him. There was no logical explanation, no medical reason why he should be sitting here now instead of cooling in the morgue.

He closed his eyes.

And then as if it was summoned by his thoughts, it came again.

> “Niccolo.”<

His eyes snapped open, but the street was the same. No one looking at him, no shadow leaning too close. The voice wasn’t around him. It was inside.

> “It’s time.”<

He straightened, wincing at the sharp pain that shot through his ribs. “Time for what?”

> “Your first task.”<

Something in him bristled, but not from fear. “What do you want me to do?”

> “Go to the address I just gave to you.”<

Niccolo froze. There was no paper, no phone in his hands and yet, he knew the location. As if it had been carved directly into his thoughts.

“What’s there?”

> “A girl. She is being held against her will. You will save her.”<

“Save her,” Niccolo repeated, more to himself than to the voice.

> “Yes. And you may kill anyone who stands in your way.”<

Niccolo exhaled slowly. “Kill…?”

> “If they try to stop you, you remove them. It is that simple.”<

He leaned back against the bench, staring at the fading daylight. He’d never killed anyone before. Never even thrown a punch unless it was in self defense. But the way the voice said it so casual, so absolute, it made it sound inevitable.

If the girl was truly in danger, whoever had her wouldn’t just hand her over. That much he knew.

“Alright,” Niccolo said finally. “I’ll go.”

> “Good. Move quickly.”<

The voice faded, leaving him with the sound of traffic and the faint hiss of wind through the trees.

He rose to his feet, ignoring the protest of his bruised muscles, and started walking.

The streets blurred together after that. He didn’t know how long he walked. Minutes? Hours? The sun dipped lower, staining the sky in layers of orange and red. Each breath burned his lungs, but he kept moving. The pain almost seemed to keep him awake, focused.

When he finally reached the address, the sky was melting into twilight.

It was an ordinary apartment building. Red brick, chipped paint, three stories high. The kind of place no one paid attention to.

But something about it made Niccolo’s skin prickle.

He stood across the street for a moment, watching the windows. No sound from inside. No light except for one dim bulb on the second floor.

The thought of a girl being trapped in there twisted his gut.

He crossed quickly and slipped into the narrow alley running alongside the building. At the back, he found a second entrance, a plain metal door with a rusted knob.

He tested it gently.

Unlocked.

Niccolo drew in a slow breath and pushed it open, the hinges groaning faintly.

Inside was a cramped kitchen, the smell of grease and stale cigarettes heavy in the air. The hum of an old fridge filled the silence.

He stepped in carefully, closing the door behind him.

And that’s when he saw him.

A man stood at the counter, broad shouldered, unshaven, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He was stirring something in a pot on the stove, but his eyes flicked up instantly when he heard the door click shut.

Niccolo froze.

The man didn’t ask who he was. Didn’t shout. Didn’t reach for a phone.

He reached for the gun tucked into his waistband.

Niccolo’s body reacted before his mind caught up. He moved back a step, raising his hands but then, the gun went off.

The impact slammed into his chest like a sledgehammer, knocking him backward.

He gasped, the air torn from his lungs, and staggered into the wall. The pain was blinding, hot and cold all at once.

He slid down to the floor, clutching his chest, trying to breathe through the white noise in his ears.

The man stepped closer, gun still raised, eyes narrowing. “Who the hell are you?”

Niccolo tried to speak, but all that came out was a cough and a thin ribbon of blood.

His vision blurred at the edges. The shadows in the corners of the kitchen seemed to twist.

And then, faint but unmistakable, the voice returned.

> “Get up.”<

Niccolo’s lips parted in a soundless reply: I can’t.

> “Yes, you can. You have my gift now. Use it.”<

The man loomed over him, the barrel of the gun lowering toward his head.

> “Stand, Niccolo.”<

Something surged inside him, not adrenaline, not panic, something darker. He felt his hands curl into fists without willing them to.