I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

Time lost all meaning in the deep dungeons beneath the royal palace.

There were no windows to mark the passage of day or night, only the slow, rhythmic dripping of water somewhere down the stone corridor and the freezing moisture creeping through the thick granite floor. Cherion lay curled on his side on a bed of damp, rotting straw, his torn silk robes stained with dirt, dried blood, and sweat. His hands were bound tightly behind his back with thick iron cuffs that chafed his wrists raw whenever he shifted.

He had no idea how long he had been sitting in the pitch black. It could have been three days, or perhaps a week. His throat was parched, burning with raw thirst, and his stomach cramped painfully from days without proper food. Every bone in his body ached from the bitter chill radiating off the stone walls.

Whenever he closed his eyes, the memory of that night played on a relentless loop, the sight of Philia crying beneath him, the heavy iron gauntlets dragging him down, and Yerel’s cold, lifeless blue eyes looking down at him with utter disgust. The humiliation and betrayal festered inside his chest like an open, infected wound.

Suddenly, the heavy iron lock on his cell door rattled loudly, the sharp metallic scraping echoing through the dead quiet.

Cherion flinched, squinting painfully against the sudden, blinding yellow light of a torch held aloft outside the iron bars. He dragged his trembling body upward, wincing as the rough stone scraped against his bare knees, and pushed himself against the back wall.

The cell door swung open with a heavy groan.

Framed in the doorway stood King Alderon, followed by two towering royal guards clad in black steel armor. The monarch wore a heavy wool cloak trimmed with dark fur, his expression rigid and unreadable in the flickering torchlight.

A violent spark of relief surged through Cherion’s chest. His breath hitched, tears instantly welling up in his bloodshot eyes. He scrambled forward on his knees as fast as his bindings allowed, throwing himself toward the King’s boots.

”Your Majesty...!” Cherion wept, his voice cracking into a hoarse, desperate raspy whisper. ”Your Majesty, thank goodness... You came for me... Please, you have to let me out! You know me—you know I would never wish harm upon the royal house! Please... tell the guards to unbind me...!”

He lifted his blood-stained face, searching the King’s features for any sign of warmth or mercy, clinging frantically to the hope that his family’s long history with the crown would save him from this nightmare.

”Please, Your Majesty,” Cherion choked out, his chest heaving with deep, ragged sobs. ”It was all a setup... Philia manipulated everything! He drove me mad! I lost control, but I swear on my life, I only acted out of devotion to Prince Yerel!”

Alderon stood completely motionless, looking down at the shivering, pathetic nobleman huddled in the damp straw at his feet. His eyes held no warmth, no sympathy, and no hesitation, only a profound, heavy disappointment that felt colder than the dungeon air.

”Silence, Cherion,” Alderon said softly. His voice was low, carrying an iron weight that instantly cut through Cherion’s frantic rambling.

Cherion froze, his lips trembling as he stared up at the sovereign.

”I came here myself,” the King continued slowly, ”not to listen to your excuses, but to deliver the royal council’s decision personally.”

He reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a small parchment scroll sealed with thick red wax bearing the royal crest.

”For the crime of high treason, for the attempted murder of the Crown Prince’s fiancé under royal protection, and for plotting treasonous acts within the inner palace...” he paused, his gaze fixing firmly on Cherion’s pale face. ”...you are sentenced to public execution by beheading at sunrise one week from today.”

The words hung in the frigid air like a death sentence delivered by a executioner’s axe.

Cherion’s breath stopped entirely. His mind went completely blank, the world spinning around him in a sickening daze. ”W... what...?” he whispered, his voice barely audible. ”Execution...? No... no, that’s impossible! You can’t do this to me!”

”The decree has been signed,” Alderon said coldly, handing the scroll to the guard standing beside him.

”No! Your Majesty, listen to me!” Cherion shrieked, panic clawing at his chest as he surged forward, slamming his knees against the cold stone floor right before the King’s boots. ”You cannot execute me! You can’t treat me like this! Remember what my family did for you! Remember my father! He bled on the battlefield alongside you! He sacrificed his life to protect your throne!”

Tears poured down Cherion’s dirt-streaked cheeks as he thrashed his bound wrists, desperately trying to reach out. ”My family gave everything for the royal house! Their status, their wealth, their blood! You owe my house your life! How can you cut my head off over a nameless commoner?!”

Alderon lowered his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as a dark shadow crossed his face.

”Do not dare bring your father’s honorable name into this wretched pit,” the King barked, his voice laced with sudden, dangerous fury. ”Your father was a selfless, noble warrior who put the realm above his own life. You, Cherion, are nothing like him.”

He stepped back, turning slightly toward the open doorway. ”You are selfish, arrogant, and blinded by jealousy. You took the prestige your family earned and dragged it through the mud for your own pathetic obsession. I gave you every opportunity to prove yourself worthy of your lineage, and you spat on it. You are a absolute disgrace to your house.”

”Your Majesty! Please! Look at me!” Cherion sobbed hysterically, dragging himself across the floor as the guard stepped in front of the King, blocking his path. ”Don’t leave me here! Listen to me about Philia! You don’t understand!”

Alderon didn’t stop. He walked out into the corridor without bestowing a single backward glance.

”He’s a snake!” Cherion screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice shattering into a raw, bloody shriek that echoed wildly down the dark stone tunnel. ”Philia is not what he seems! He is not kind! He is not innocent! He is going to poison the crown! He will ruin Yerel! He will destroy everything from the inside out!”

The heavy iron door swung shut with a deafening slam.

BANG

The heavy iron lock clicked into place with absolute finality.

”Your Majesty! Yerel! Anyone!” Cherion screamed into the darkness, slamming his head against the solid wood door until his forehead bled. ”Listen to me! He’s going to destroy everything! Listen to me!”

No answer came. Only the low, flickering shadows of the corridor torch fading away through the small iron grate at the top of the door, leaving Cherion completely alone in the freezing, suffocating dark once more.

He collapsed onto his side in the damp straw, his chest heaving with violent, uncontrollable sobs, his bound fingers digging into the filthy floor as the dark swallowed him whole.