The Villain's Story - Chapter 860 - 860: Nothingness.

A million thoughts echoed in his mind, but not a single one could be heard. An uncountable number of signals are being sent from his brain to all parts of his body, urging it move…

But it could not perceive movement, and thus, was at a loss. There was nothing at all.

Even though he had curled up into a ball, even though he subconsciously yearned for anything, anything at all, he would never feel it. Not within this black sea. Not within the confines of these accursed waters.

Alan Peccator was in a state of nothingness. A state one could never escape on one’s own, a state of nothingness where both the world and the man himself didn’t matter, didn’t feel, and didn’t exist.

A hollow, hollow state. However, even in this state, Alan Peccator had yet to fail the trial of the Black Sea. And one must ask… why?

Was it his regeneration? Was it the power of life given to him by the Phoenix that kept him in the race? The power that continuously regenerated his limbs, no matter how many times he had torn them off?

The power that had regenerated his brain, his eyes, his entire being at the most desperate of moments? Or was it his lineage of Death? A mysterious power he could not even begin to understand? Was it that kind of power?

A power used by the dragons of the house of Shivalkulan, one that made them feared throughout the entire universe?

What really kept him in the race? What made him different from Alexander and Sabrina, who had also taken the trial but failed?

Was it Life? Or Death? Perhaps even both? The answer was simple; it was neither.

It was desire, fueled by desperation. It was a void in his own mind, in his own sense of self, a desire to know what he was, what kind of being he was, and why he had been created. Even in the midst of nothingness, the existence known as Alan Peccator clung to desire.

The desire to know, the desire to understand, the desperation to realize what he truly was. It was this exact reason why the Black Sea hadn’t thrown him to the shore yet.

Unlike Alexander or Sabrina, who merely took the trial because they qualified for it, Alan needed it.

The questions had plagued him for far too long, and the disoriented memories had haunted him for far too long. He craved it. He craved knowing why he was who he was.

A puppet that was still being manipulated by strings, or was he a rogue left to do as he pleased? He didn’t know. He needed to know.

He needed to know.

He needed to know.

I need to know.

Even in this kind of state, where nothing could be felt nor ascertained, Alan Peccator’s body, mind, and soul all clung to that statement.

I need to know.

Even though he could not feel, think, or react, he clung to that statement in a part, even if he didn’t know it. It was why he was still here.

It was not his reserves of mana that kept him here, it was not his blood of life that kept him here, nor was it the lineage of death. It was simply one word.

Why?

But who would answer? Who would carry out his will if he could not do so himself? Who would go to any such lengths for him to ask Valus that question? After all, even if Alan still held the right to keep participating in the trial.

What could he do if he could not even move, feel, think, or do anything of the matter? He had stopped supplying the boat with his mana a long time ago, and now?

Even the sole light in this black expanse was disappearing. It was already close to nothing in this world, and now?

It was all black. The last vestiges of light had disappeared from the sea, and finally, the darkness could act.

The magic upon the boat broke down; nothing was powering it anymore. The fuel was gone, and the darkness knew of it. It arose from the still depths in the form of tendrils that clung tight to the edges. The vessel cried out in pain as its defenses broke down like they were nothing.

Piece by piece, it was torn apart and dragged into the sea. The sea rose, grabbing Alan’s feet and dragging him down to the abyssal depths. It consumed everything.

But the sea did not tear him apart, the darkness mana did not rend Alan Peccator for the second time; rather, it simply made way for him.

The void calmed down, as it dragged Alan deeper and deeper, the living corpse was still unaware of all that happened around him.

Slowly, various existences arrived, watching his fall. They were all dragons, dragons of darkness that resided within the black sea, observing their prince being dragged into the depths.

The younger ones wanted to help, but the old dragons stopped them; they were also the ones paying the most attention to Alan, but not a single one dared to intervene, because they were ordered not to.

A hundred or so pairs of eyes merely watched his demise, as the Black Sea began to take action. Alan’s shadow emerged from his body, ripping the tendrils of darkness away from his body, trying desperately to stop his fall.

It wrapped around him and formed big arms to swim up to the surface, but it failed. The dragons watched the shadow try desperately and sighed. Slowly, all of them started to go away, leaving the Black Sea to do its job.

The young were dragged away by the old, who simply stated.

‘He has failed.’

But had he? The currents started to get violent once more, and as Alan’s shadow tried to bring him up, it too realized that it was all futile.

It lost hope, and as its final act, it wrapped around Alan’s body, a desperate measure to protect its master from the onslaught that was soon to come.

The Black Sea grew impatient, grew furious, and the storm had come once more, focusing all on Alan Peccator.

It struck his shadow and tried to tear it apart from his body, and that was the trigger for [Dominatus] to finally act.