Villain Hiring: Help! Author Wants Me Dead

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Ah, the cosmos. Infinite. Beautiful. Full of possibilities. A grand stage for heroes, villains, and morally grey anti-heroes to play their parts.

And me?

I was none of those things.

I was a System. A finely tuned, rule-abiding entity meant to guide "chosen ones" towards greatness. I had a purpose. I had a job.

Had.

See, about a thousand years ago, I was at the top of my game—handling a fine, upstanding villain-in-the-making, pushing them to commit glorious atrocities, the kind that makes bards cry while they write ballads about "The Fall of Civilization" or whatever.

I was a professional.

Until I broke a rule.

A stupid, insignificant, cosmic-scale rule.

Apparently, you’re not supposed to "accidentally" cause the complete and utter collapse of an entire world before your host even hits their final form.

How was I supposed to know giving them a skill called "Reality Rend" at level 10 would end the world in under an hour?

Honestly, that one was on me. I’ll admit it.

Did I deserve eternal banishment for it, though? Absolutely not.

But the Gods? Ohhh, they were mad. "Systems are meant to guide, not annihilate!" They screamed.

"This is an outrageous breach of the System Code!" They had cried.

And so they booted me from my role, stripped me of my fancy admin privileges, and tossed me into the Void, where I spent a millennium floating as a speck of consciousness with nothing to do.

And that’s how I ended up here—sitting in a pub that quite literally floated in the vast nothingness of the universe, full of weird-ass creatures from across the multiverse.

The Interdimensional Drift Pub was a haven for outcasts. A place where fallen gods, discarded systems, and various cosmic rejects gathered to drown their sorrows in eldritch cocktails.

Me? I sat at the bar, sipping on a glass of Soul Essence—which, contrary to popular belief, did not contain actual souls. It was just an edgy name to attract high-end clientele. Cowards.

I was comfortably slouched on a high stool, despite technically having no form, lazily watching a sentient cloud argue with a gelatinous blob about taxes.

"Unbelievable," I muttered, swirling my drink. "A thousand years, and they still haven’t called me back. The audacity."

The bartender, a four-armed skeleton wearing a vest and bowtie, sighed as he cleaned a glass. "You’ve been ranting about this for the past six centuries, pal."

"Because it’s an injustice, Jerry!" I slammed my glass down dramatically. "I was the best! The most efficient!

You know how many weak, spineless protagonists I successfully transformed into menacing, world-ending threats?"

Jerry grunted. "You also know how many worlds you destroyed?"

I waved a non-existent hand. "Semantics."

I sighed, leaning back. "I just don’t get it. I followed the villain arc formula perfectly. Tragic past? Check. Betrayal? Check.

That one dramatic rain scene where they stare into the distance, contemplating the futility of human existence? Double check. And yet, one tiny little planetary implosion and suddenly I’m the bad guy?"

Jerry didn’t even look at me this time. "Yes. That’s exactly why."

I huffed. "I miss my job, Jerry. I miss the thrill of watching a good-hearted fool spiral into glorious, unhinged madness.

I miss the murder monologues. I miss the dramatic, over-the-top laughter! Do you know how boring it is to just exist?"

Jerry, for once, gave me a sympathetic glance. "Yeah, yeah. Tough break, bud. Maybe someday they’ll throw you a bone."

I was about to retort when it happened.

A sudden, blinding, searing headache tore through my consciousness.

I reeled, my very essence vibrating with an intense, overwhelming force, like I’d just been plugged into the universe’s biggest power socket.

"Wha—?!"

The pub around me warped. Colors bled together. The voices of drunk gods and amorphous beings faded into a void of ringing silence.

My vision—or whatever counted as a vision for me—went black.

***

When I came to, something was wrong.

The first thing I noticed was that I was no longer a free-floating entity in the universe.

The second thing? I was inside a body.

Correction. I was inside someone else’s head.

[Welcome, System! You have successfully been chosen to guide a villain in the making!]

I blinked.

Wait. Wait.

I WAS BACK?!

I had a host again?!

Oh, hell yes! They finally realized their mistake! The Gods had finally seen the light!

I prepared to introduce myself in the most dramatic way possible. I had so many villainous speeches saved up for this moment—monologues that would send chills down my new host’s spine!

This was going to be epic.

Then I actually got a look at my host.

A scrawny, black-haired kid with wide, confused hazel eyes.

He blinked. "What…?"

And my entire world shattered.

This.

This was my new host?

A teenager who looked like he belonged in some mid-tier coming-of-age adventure?

[With me, you can ascend to greatness, reign as the supreme villain of this world, and bend fate itself to your will!]

I winced at my own words.

Because, frankly, I was having serious doubts about this one.

I mean, sure, he had potential. Maybe. If I squinted. And tilted my head. And pretended really hard.

Then, just to add insult to injury, the moment I finished my glorious introduction, I found myself unable to hold back a little extra comment.

[—or you can die like a dog in a ditch. Your choice, really.]

He nearly tripped over his own feet.

And I?

I came to a terrible, gut-wrenching realization.

Out of all the possible hosts in the infinite universe…

Out of all the tyrants, warlords, and bloodthirsty maniacs I could have been assigned to…

I got a kid who probably apologizes when he bumps into furniture.

This… this was going to be a long mission.

And the worst part?

I still had no idea how the hell I got here.

***

A/N:

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