The wind hit Reyna's face like a slap.
Glass towers loomed over her, sleek and humming with neon magic. Skyrails zipped overhead, drones buzzed past, and holograms advertised spells like they were perfume. A giant billboard shimmered with a familiar face — hers — beneath a bold title: REYNA V. RETURNS TO VALDARIA CORP: RUMORS OF RESURRECTION?
She blinked. "What the hell…?"
A voice echoed in her head — soft, mechanical, and eerily calm.
[Host has arrived in World #1: Neo-Londara Dimension. Timeline stabilized. Identity implanted. Objective: Overcome your villainous fate and survive past the Execution Date.]
Reyna glanced at her reflection in a mirrored panel beside a luxury skycar. Impeccably styled silver-blonde hair, blood-red lipstick, heels that could kill, and a body encased in a power suit lined with golden runes. She looked like danger incarnate.
Execution Date: 14 days.
"What kind of sick countdown—?"
Her holographic assistant blinked into view, shaped like a small, floating AI cat. "Hello, Miss Valdaria. It's good to see you back in control. Shall I review today's threats or schedule your scandal press conference first?"
She stared. "What did I do this time?"
"Attempted merger assassination, hostile tech sorcery, illegal memory extraction, the usual."
So… she wasn't just a villainess. She was the villainess.
Perfect.
Objective Reminder: Survive. Reclaim power. Rewire your fate.
Back in the Game
Inside Valdaria Tower, the air was thick with tension. She walked through the corridors like a queen returning from exile, her heels clicking a rhythm of war.
People turned. Whispers spread.
"Didn't she disappear during the trial?"
"I thought she was locked in the magic ward…"
"She's supposed to be dead!"
And then came him.
Dorian Blackwell.
Tall, charcoal suit, eyes that gleamed like twilight storms. He stood at the end of the hallway, arms crossed, watching her like she was a chess piece he couldn't quite place.
"Back from the grave already?" he murmured as she stopped before him.
"Death's boring," Reyna replied coolly. "Figured I'd shake things up again."
He didn't smile, but something flickered in his eyes, curiosity, suspicion… something deeper. "You have no allies left, Valdaria. Your enemies have multiplied. And your name is a curse."
"Good," she said. "Let them choke on it."
ANew Kind of Villainess
Later that night, Reyna sat in her penthouse suite overlooking Neo-Londara, sipping black wine laced with mana. She pulled up the digital dossiers the system had fed into her mind: enemies, allies, timelines, betrayals.
In every world, she would start at the top — and fall.
But this time, she would rewrite the story.
Not as a pawn.
Not even as a queen.
As the villainess who refused to die.
Her assistant blinked beside her. "Reyna, there's a message flagged as urgent."
"Who's it from?"
The AI's eyes dimmed.
"From yourself. A memory lock dated three timelines ago. It says: 'Trust no one — not even him.'"
Her hand froze.
Not even him?
But who was him?
Suddenly, a surge of energy pulsed through the building. A dark rift tore open in her office wall, and a cloaked figure stepped through — face hidden, power radiating like a storm.
"Reyna Valdaria," the figure said, voice low and sharp, "you don't belong in this world. And I've come to erase your existence."
Reyna stood, fire sparking at her fingertips.
"Oh honey," she purred, "you'll have to get in line."