I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

Zarius stood on the cobblestones, the wind whipping his dark hair across eyes that refused to blink. Almost fifteen, he was already tall enough that his father’s shadow didn’t quite cover him anymore, though he still felt the weight of it pressing down on his shoulders like a cloak.

Beside him, Marielle’s small, warm hand was a frantic pulse against his palm. She was clinging to him, her knuckles white, her breath coming in short, visible puffs of white mist.

"You have your orders," Duke Lario said, his voice as dry as parchment, barely audible over the restless shifting of the cavalry. He sat atop his black warhorse, a statue of iron and ego. He didn’t lean down to embrace them. He didn’t offer a final word of fatherly comfort. He looked at Zarius not as a son, but as a lieutenant left in charge of a crumbling fortress.

"I do, Father," Zarius replied. His voice was steady, a feat of sheer, agonizing will. "I will guard the North. I will ensure the defenses are held, and that Mother and Marielle remain safe. You will return to a house of perfect order."

Lario gave a single nod. It was the highest praise Zarius could hope for, a silent acknowledgment that he was, at the very least, a functional tool. "The King’s vanguard does not wait for sentiment. Be the wall, Zarius. Not the vine."

With a sharp tug on the reins, the Duke turned. The banners of the Valtrane crest snapped in the gale as the column began its slow, heavy march toward the horizon. Zarius watched until the last speck of steel vanished into the grey treeline. Only then did he allow his grip on Marielle’s hand to soften, though his heart remained a tightly coiled spring.

A month turned into two before anyone really noticed. The war stayed far off, heard only in the occasional, mud-splattered messenger who arrived with reports of "steady progress" and "minimal losses." But inside the stone walls, a different kind of battle was being lost.

It had gone past gradual worsening. Nerissa was deteriorating all at once.

In a move that felt more like a brand of ownership than an act of mercy, King Alderon had sent a royal physician from the capital. The man was a hawk-faced named Vane, who moved through the halls with a silent, observant grace that made Zarius’s skin crawl. He brought rare remedies and glowing vials, claiming they were gifts from the throne to preserve the "precious flower of the North."

Zarius wasn’t a particularly religious boy, the Valtranes usually put more faith in steel than in gods, but he found himself kneeling on the cold stone anyway.

Let the war end, he’d pray, his forehead pressed against his interlaced fingers. Let Mother’s be healthy again. Just give me a family to protect, and I will be whatever sword you want me to be.

He was still young enough to believe that effort was a down payment on happiness. He thought that if he worked hard enough, if he stayed up until three in the morning checking the perimeter and then sat by his mother’s bed until dawn, the universe would eventually owe him a debt of kindness.

Half a year. That was how long the breath was held.

The news of the victory arrived. The bells in the village below the manor began to peal, a frantic, joyous clanging that sent the servants running into the courtyards, weeping and embracing. The war was over. The border was secure. The "Great Duke Lario Valtrane" was coming home.

Zarius felt a weight lift off his chest that he hadn’t even realized was crushing him. He allowed himself to laugh. He went to his room and scrubbed the ink from his fingers, wanting to look presentable for his father’s return. He even thought, for one fleeting, foolish second, that Lario might actually pat him on the shoulder this time.

The heavy doors of the manor swung open, but it wasn’t the Duke who entered.

It was a captain of the guard, his armor dented and his face masked in a layer of grey ash. Behind him, four men carried a litter draped in the black-and-silver colors of mourning.

"The Duke Valtrane didn’t make it," the captain said, his voice cracking with a fatigue that went deeper than bone.

The world stopped. The sound of the bells outside suddenly felt like someone was hammering nails into Zarius’s skull.

"No," Zarius said, the word sounding hollow and strange in his own ears. "That’s... that’s a mistake. My father is a great warrior. He doesn’t fall in skirmishes. He survived the Great Freeze. He’s... he’s just behind you, isn’t he?"

"The enemy used a poisoned bolt, my lord," the captain whispered, refusing to meet the boy’s eyes. "A concentrated venom. He died before he hit the ground. He didn’t feel a thing."

Zarius felt a cold, oily sensation slide down his throat. Poison. The very thing his father had tortured him with for years to make him "immune." The irony was twisting in his gut.

"Is his grace... truly dead?"

The voice was a whisper from the top of the grand staircase. Zarius turned to see Nerissa. The nightgown hung off her, too loose, and her hair had come undone, falling wild around her face.. She was clutching the banister so hard her knuckles looked like white stones.

"Mother, don’t..." Zarius started, moving toward her.

But the light had already left her eyes. Before he could reach her, her knees buckled. Her strength simply failed her, and she slipped down the stairs like a discarded doll.

The night was a blur of shadows and the smell of death. Vane had been in Nerissa’s room for hours, his face grimmer than usual. When he finally stepped out, he didn’t look at Zarius. He just shook his head.

"The shock has shattered what was left of her," the physician said. "I suggest you say your piece now."

Zarius led a sobbing Marielle into the room. Nerissa lay propped up on silk pillows, her breathing a wet, ragged sound that filled the silence of the room.

Marielle collapsed by the bed. Nerissa moved her fingers, slowly, to stroke the girl’s hair.

"My sweet... my little bird," Nerissa whispered, her voice a thread of silk about to snap. "Be brave... for the name. You have the... the true blood. Stay... stay pure."

Zarius stood at the foot of the bed, his heart thudding in his ears. He waited. He waited for her to turn to him. He waited for the "Goodbye, son." He waited for the "I’m proud of you." He waited for the one thing that would make the last fifteen years of suffering mean something.

Finally, Nerissa’s eyes shifted. She looked at Zarius.

The softness she had shown Marielle vanished instantly. Her pupils dilated, her face contorting into a mask of such visceral loathing that Zarius instinctively stepped back.

"And you," she hissed, the word carrying a spray of blood onto her chin. "You..."

"Mother, please," Zarius whispered, his voice trembling.

"You are the rot in this house," she interrupted, her hand clawing at the sheets as if she wanted to reach out and strangle him. "Lario... my Lario is gone. The only man worth a soul is in the ground... and I am left with you."

She began to cough, but she didn’t stop her assault. "I look at you and I see the end of everything. I wish... I wish I had never looked at your face. I wish you had died in that cradle... so we could have been happy. He and I... we would have been happy... without you."

She stared at him, her eyes burning with a final, dying fire.

"You aren’t my son," she gasped, her body jerking one last time. "You’re just... a mistake."

Her hand fell limp against the bed. Her eyes stayed open, fixed on Zarius with that final expression of hatred, even as the light behind them went out.

The room fell into a silence so profound it felt like the walls were closing in. Marielle’s muffled sobs were the only sound in the world.

Zarius didn’t move. He didn’t cry. He couldn’t. He felt as though he had been hollowed out, his insides scooped away and replaced with the very ice that sat atop the Northern peaks. He looked at the woman who had birthed him, and then at the door where the messenger had brought news of the man who had raised him.

They were both gone. And they had both left him with the same thing: the realization that he was a monster who had survived the humans.