I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

For a second, everything just hit pause. The air turned heavy, suffocating, the kind of stillness that made your ears feel weird. It was like the garden itself had stopped breathing, the frost-bitten air turning into a solid wall between them.

He knows. Or, no, he thinks he knows. For a split second, Cherion felt his pulse hammering against his ribs, fast and loud enough it felt like Philia should be able to hear it. But then the ”Reader” part of his brain kicked in. That cynical, over-read side of him that had seen every plot twist, every imposter reveal, every dramatic ”you’re not who you say you are” moment ever written.

If there was one thing Cherion knew about people like Philia, especially the so-called ”Saintly” type, it was that they ran entirely on their own sense of importance. Their intuition wasn’t just a guess. To them, it was basically divine truth. And if you wanted to deal with that? You had to treat their big ”revelations” like they were just saying nonsense.

Cherion let out a dry, scratchy laugh. It wasn’t a pretty sound, it was the sound of a man who found a joke genuinely exhausting.

”Good heavens, Philia,” Cherion said, rubbing his temple like a headache was starting to form. ”Has the Palace incense finally melted your brain? Or is it the lack of oxygen in the North?” He looked at him with a kind of pity that was just insulting. ”People tend to ’die and be reborn,’ as you so dramatically put it, when they finally realize they’ve spent their entire lives surrounded by vipers and yes-men. It’s called growing a spine. You should try it sometime, though I imagine it might interfere with your whole floating act.”

That dismissal hit Philia hard. He wasn’t used to this. He was used to people fearing him, worshipping him, not treating him like he’d just said something ridiculous. Being brushed off like that? Clearly he hated it.

Philia’s face didn’t crumble, but it hardened into something sharper, something more human and far more dangerous. He leaned in. ”Don’t think for a single, solitary second that I’m being fooled by this... this performance,” he hissed. ”People don’t change. Not like this. Underneath that sharp tongue and that borrowed arrogance, I know exactly what’s hiding. It’s the same pathetic, desperate noble who used to cry in the dark because the Prince wouldn’t look at him.”

He circled Cherion slowly, like a shark checking for blood in the water. ”This ’new you’? It’s just another one of your tantrums, isn’t it? A clumsy, high-stakes performance designed to get the attention you’ve always craved. You’re daring me to prove you’re faking it. Well, Cherion, I don’t have to prove anything. I can smell the desperation on you from here.”

Cherion didn’t get flustered. In fact, he found himself wanting to find a theater and buy a ticket, because the melodrama was reaching award-winning levels. He actually raised his hands and started a slow, almost lazy round of applause. Clap. Clap. Clap.

”Wow,” Cherion deadpanned. ”Truly. I’m touched, Philia. I really am. I didn’t realize I was your favorite subject of study. All those years, and here I thought you were busy being holy, but you were actually taking notes on my psychological profile?” He grinned. ”But you’re right about one thing, people don’t change easily. That’s why you’re still standing here, shivering in the cold, reciting the same tired holy act from three volumes ago. Meanwhile, I’ve already moved on to the sequel. I’ve even changed the genre. It’s much more fun over here, honestly.”

He stepped closer, forcing Philia to either retreat or endure the proximity. ”Tell me, does your face ever hurt? From the fake smiling, I mean. Keeping that glowing, perfect image going all day sounds exhausting, especially when you’ve got that much envy sitting underneath.”

Philia’s eyes flashed, real anger this time.

”If you’re so convinced I’m the same pathetic person,” Cherion continued, ”then why do you look so bothered? If I’m just ’faking it,’ a man of your stature should be able to ignore me entirely. I should be a fly on the wall. But you can’t, can you? You’re absolutely terrified because, for the first time in your life, you aren’t the most interesting person in the room. You’re looking at me and realizing the ’villain’ isn’t following the script anymore, and it’s making you lose your mind.”

That did it.

Whatever this was, it was over. And Philia knew he’d lost. He didn’t have the words to keep up anymore. So he switched tactics, like anyone desperate enough would.

”Fine,” Philia spat, the word dripping with venom. ”Believe your own delusions. Hide behind all that attitude. But look around you, Cherion. Really look.” He gestured vaguely at the rough, black peaks of the North and the dull, grey sky. ”Look at what these ’changes’ have bought you. You’ve downgraded. You went from Crown Prince to tending a decaying Duke in a frozen grave. You’re living in a tomb, caring for a walking corpse, and you call that a victory?”

Cherion didn’t get angry, anger was too hot and loud. Instead, he turned and looked at Philia like he was examining something mildly interesting under a microscope. Then he laughed softly, the sound smooth enough to make Philia’s expression twitch.

”Downgrade?” Cherion asked, tilting his head. ”Philia, the North isn’t a downgrade. It’s a relief. It’s clean. It’s honest. But I suppose I can see why you’d be confused about quality.”

He took a slow step toward Philia. ”Speaking of quality... You and Yerel. It’s quite poetic, really.”

Philia stilled, the bare name landing wrong in a way that showed. ”His Highness is...”

”He’s my leftover, Philia,” Cherion interrupted. ”He’s the trash I discarded the moment I realized I deserved better. And you? You were so hungry for a crown and a title that you were happy to play scavenger.”

Philia’s composure shattered. Whatever nice image he had left broke apart completely, leaving behind something raw and ugly. His face twisted, the mask gone, replaced by someone petty and humiliated who’d just been told his diamond was fake.

”You... you arrogant little...” Philia’s voice trembled.

They were near the edge of the big decorative fountain now, the water inside a dull, slushy mix of half-frozen ice.

Then suddenly, Philia’s foot ”caught” on a rough stone. It looked like a clumsy, almost violent stumble, the kind that might’ve fooled anyone not paying attention, but Cherion saw it for what it was. In that split second, the panic didn’t feel real. Philia wasn’t just falling, he was aiming. Steering. His shoulder lined up perfectly with Cherion’s chest, all that weight and momentum clearly meant to either shove him straight into the icy basin or take them both down into the freezing slush.

The world tilted.

Cherion caught the sharp shift in the air as white silk flashed at the edge of his vision. Leather boots scraped against the frost, loud and messy, like his balance had just completely given up.. The fountain loomed closer, its grey, open mouth looking a little too ready to swallow them whole.

SPLASH.