Rebirth of the Villain
Chapter 40: The Primordial Gambit

Chapter 40: The Primordial Gambit

Time stopped.

The Circle members froze mid-gesture, water droplets crystallized in midair, and even the writhing shadows on the walls stuttered to absolute stillness. Reality held its breath, caught between one heartbeat and the next.

Only Arthur remained unfrozen, his consciousness existing in a pocket dimension between seconds.

She materialized from the spaces between reality—not appearing so much as always having been there. The Primordial Succubus defied mortal comprehension, her form shifting between impossible beauty and something far more ancient.

"My beloved vessel," her voice was seductive. "Finally, we speak without those tiresome chains binding you."

Arthur forced himself to meet her gaze, even as every instinct screamed to look away. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been a distant presence, offering power through his system. Now, with his bonds severed, she stood before him in all her terrible glory.

"One hour," Arthur said, his voice steady despite the cosmic horror before him. "That’s all you get."

Her laugh rippled through frozen time. "An hour in here? Or out there? Time is such a... flexible concept when you’re me." She circled him. "Do you know how long I’ve waited for this moment? For you to finally be desperate enough to unleash me?"

"I’m not unleashing anything," Arthur said firmly. "I’m borrowing power. There’s a difference."

"Is there?" She traced a finger along his jaw, and Arthur felt universes die and be reborn at her touch. "You summoned me, Arthur Lionheart. Called to the void between worlds and asked for salvation. That has a price."

"Name it."

"Oh, my sweet vessel. The price is already being paid. Every second you channel my power, you become a little less human and a little more... mine." Her smile was predation incarnate. "But don’t worry. I’ll make sure you enjoy the transformation."

Arthur felt the weight of her words but pushed forward. "I need enough power to terrify them into releasing my people."

"Terrify?" She laughed again. "Oh, Arthur. You still think so small. Why terrify when you could simply unmake them? Erase them from existence so thoroughly that reality forgets they ever were?"

"Because I’m am strategic I will end them my self."

"Yet." She pressed against him, and Arthur felt the boundaries of his self beginning to blur. "But very well. You want theater? I’ll give you a performance they’ll remember for the brief remainder of their lives."

The frozen moment shuddered and resumed.

"—made your decision?" the Circle’s leader was finishing his question, unaware of the eternity that had passed between words.

Arthur looked around the chamber—at the six corrupted beings who had once been human, at his brother who was no longer entirely his brother, at the images of Sera and Sylrathi held as bargaining chips in a game they thought they controlled.

"I have one question before I decide," Arthur said, and his voice different almost like a god. "You mentioned my unique soul structure, the intersection of transmigrated consciousness and Incubus system. Have you considered what happens when those restraints you’re so eager to remove are the only things keeping something much worse contained?"

The center figure’s expression shifted from confident to wary. "What do you mean?"

Arthur smiled, and the temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees. "I mean, you’ve been so busy studying what I am that you never asked what I could become."

He let the first trickle of Primordial power seep through.

The chamber’s impossible building began to resonate, walls breathing in rhythm with Arthur’s heartbeat. Shadows moved independently of their sources, reaching toward him like supplicants.

"What are you doing?" Gareth stepped back, his enhanced senses screaming warnings.

"Renegotiating," Arthur said simply.

Then he showed them horror.

Not physical attack—that would be too simple, too clean. Instead, Arthur reached into their minds with fingers made of cosmic void and found their deepest fears, their most carefully buried truths.

The Circle leader suddenly wasn’t in the chamber anymore. He stood in his original dimension, watching it die again. The entities that had destroyed his reality surrounded him, whispering that his escape had been an illusion, that he’d never left, that everything since had been a dying dream.

"No," he whispered, clawing at his face. "I escaped. I ESCAPED!"

Another Circle member found herself back in the moment she’d first accepted dragon essence—but now she could see what she’d really invited in. Not power, but parasites that wore her thoughts, puppeted her actions, made her dance to an alien will while thinking herself free.

The shapeshifter wearing Gareth’s face collapsed to his knees, experiencing every moment of the real Gareth’s captivity simultaneously. Three years of drugged helplessness, of watching a thing wear his face and fool everyone he loved, of screaming silently while his body wouldn’t respond.

"Stop," someone begged. "Please, stop!"

"Stop?" Arthur tilted his head, the gesture eerily similar to the Primordial’s. "But we’re just getting started. You wanted to see what I truly am? Let me show you."

Reality began to fray around him. The walls showed glimpses of other dimensions—worlds where the Circle had succeeded, where they’d failed, where they’d never existed at all. Time stuttered, showing them their own deaths in a thousand variations.

"You think you’ve transcended humanity," Arthur continued, his voice echoing from everywhere and nowhere. "But you’re just children who found matches and declared yourselves gods of fire. Let me show you what real transcendence looks like."

The Primordial’s power flooded through him fully now, and Arthur’s form began to shift. Not into something monstrous—that would be too expected. Instead, he became more real than reality itself, a fixed point around which existence oriented itself.

"I could unmake you," he said conversationally. "Not kill—killing implies you’d leave something behind. I could simply edit you out of reality. Your parents would never have met. Your worlds would never have formed. The very concepts that led to your existence would be stillborn."

The Circle members were sobbing now, minds cracking under the weight of true cosmic horror.

"But that would be merciful," Arthur continued. "And you tortured Sera for three years. You’ve drained twelve innocent souls for six months. You tricked me with my brother and made me believe he’d betrayed everything we stood for."

He gestured, and the shapeshifter’s form began to flicker, revealing the creature beneath—a thing of stolen faces and borrowed lives, now stripped of all pretense.

"So here’s my counter-offer," Arthur said. "Release both prisoners. All fourteen of them. Do it now, and I’ll let you run. Refuse, and I’ll show you what the Primordial Succubus does to those who harm what’s hers."

"Yours?" the real leader managed to choke out. "We’re not—"

"Everything in this reality is hers," Arthur corrected. "She just lets you exist in it. And right now, she’s very, very angry."

The Primordial’s voice echoed through his own: "They dare chain my vessel’s mates? They dare cause him pain? Show them why dimensions fear my name, beloved."

Arthur raised his hand, and reality held its breath.

"Choose," he said simply. "Freedom for my people, or an eternity learning why the void between worlds has teeth."

The Circle broke.

They scrambled over each other to comply, ancient commands dissolving wards, shattering chains, releasing prisoners. Sylrathi tumbled from her containment cell, gasping. Sera’s massive form crumpled as the last chain fell away. Twelve other souls—men, women, beings of various races—collapsed as their essence batteries were disconnected.

"Arthur?" Sylrathi’s voice was weak but her eyes blazed with desperate hope.

He caught her before she fell, and through their reconnected bond, she felt the Primordial’s presence. Her face went pale, but she didn’t pull away.

"Later," he promised. "Can you help the others?"

She nodded, already moving to assist the freed prisoners despite her exhaustion.

Sera’s mental voice whispered in his mind: Lustborn... you carry the Void Mother within you. I can feel her hunger.

Forty minutes remaining, the Primordial reminded him. Shall we play more with these insects?

No. We run.

But first, Arthur had one more performance to give. He turned to the Circle, who cowered before him like beaten dogs.

"You’re going to forget about us," he said, layering Primordial power into the words. "You’re going to run to whatever hole you crawled from and never come near Lyranth again. Because if you do..."

He let them see it—a glimpse of what the Primordial truly was. An entity that existed in the spaces between realities, that fed on the death of universes, that had chosen him as her vessel for reasons that would drive mortals mad to comprehend.

They broke completely, fleeing in terror that would haunt them for whatever remained of their lives.

"Sixty seconds," the Primordial purred. "Shall we make them forget how to breathe?"

"No." Arthur was already moving, supporting Sylrathi while Sera struggled to stand. "We’re leaving."

The escape was a blur of misdirection and impossible physics. Arthur split reality into seven different probability streams, each showing them fleeing in different directions. He folded space to put miles between them in seconds, left false trails that led to nowhere, created time loops that would trap pursuers in endless recursion.

By the time the Primordial’s hour ended, they were fifty miles away, hidden in an abandoned waystation.

"That was... impossible," Sera gasped, her human form trembling. She was beautiful in an ancient way—silver-white hair, golden eyes that held millennia of wisdom, and a presence that called to his dragon-touched power.

"Nothing’s impossible when you’re channeling an entity that predates reality," Arthur said, then collapsed as the cost hit him.

Without his bonds to sustain him, channeling the Primordial had burned through his life force like acid. He felt hollow, drained, barely human.

Worth it? the Primordial asked, her voice fading as she returned to the spaces between. Remember, beloved—I’m always here when you need me. And next time, the price will be higher.

The journey home was a nightmare of exhaustion and paranoia. Stolen horses, hidden paths, Sylrathi using the last of her magic to hide their passage while Arthur fought to stay conscious. Sera recovered slowly, her dragon essence reaching out to his Incubus power like matching puzzle pieces.

"The bond," she murmured during one rest stop. "I can feel it forming. Your power calls to mine."

Arthur felt it too but couldn’t focus. The Primordial had left marks on his soul, whispers in the dark corners of his mind. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the spaces between stars where she dwelt, waiting.

They reached Lyranth’s borders as dawn broke, the Heart’s barriers parting to admit them. Guards rushed forward, recognizing their prince despite his haggard appearance.

"Your Highness! The Queen has been—"

"Medical wing," Arthur interrupted. "Now."

He had to see Gareth. Had to know if his real brother was safe, if the shapeshifter had lied about that too.

Arthur burst through the medical wing doors, still covered in road dust and dried blood. The figure in the bed looked exactly like his brother—same lean frame, same bitter expression, same powerless magical signature.

"Hey asshole, what are you looking at?" Gareth snapped, then paused. "Wait... Arthur? You look like shit."

Arthur’s enhanced senses scanned desperately. No dragon essence. No corruption. No shapeshifter magic. This was real—his actual brother, powerless and angry but undeniably human.

"That bastard wore your face," Arthur whispered, then burst into laughter. "He wore your face to trick me, I almost fell for it though."

"What are you talking about?" Gareth struggled to sit up. "Arthur, you’re scaring me."

"The new you," Arthur laughed. "I love the new you because you’re actually you."

Before Gareth could respond, the door burst open. Queen Isolde rushed in, her royal composure shattered by relief.

"Arthur! The body double said you were—" She stopped mid-sentence, taking in his condition. Without hesitation, she crossed the room and pulled him into an embrace that was decidedly unqueenly.

"You impossible, reckless, brilliant man," she whispered against his neck. Her body pressed against him with desperate need—not just physical, but emotional. Through their bond, he felt weeks of terror, the fear she’d lost another king, the iron control she’d maintained for the kingdom.

"I’m here," Arthur murmured, hands tangling in her dark hair. "I’m safe."

"Safe?" She pulled back to glare at him, tears streaming down her face. "You died. Then you vanished. Then reports said the Syndicate had you." Her hands mapped his face, checking for injuries. "I should execute you myself for making me feel..."

Arthur silenced her with a kiss that rekindled their bond fully. Energy flowed between them—her relief. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer as she melted against him.

"What the FUCK?!" Gareth’s voice shattered.

They broke apart slowly, but Arthur kept his arm possessively around Isolde’s waist, his hand resting just below her ribs. She didn’t pull away, instead leaning into his touch.

"My mother?" Gareth’s voice cracked. "MY MOTHER?!"

[BOND SYNCHRONIZATION: ISOLDE - 100%] [ENERGY RESTORATION: +50 POINTS] [PRIMORDIAL INFLUENCE: SEALED] [WARNING: SEVERE EMOTIONAL TRAUMA DETECTED]

"Gareth—" Isolde began, but Arthur’s thumb traced small circles against her side, making her breath hitch slightly.

"Don’t!" Gareth was shaking now, tears streaming down his face. "Dad’s barely cold and you’re..." He couldn’t finish, watching in horror as Arthur’s hand moved to rest on Isolde’s hip with intimacy.

A dark satisfaction bloomed in Arthur’s chest. After everything—watching his brother’s face crumble was delicious.

"How long?" Gareth’s voice was deadly quiet. "How long have you been fucking my mother?"

"Since after your father’s death," Isolde said quietly, not moving away as Arthur pulled her back against his chest, his arms wrapping around her waist from behind.

"You couldn’t even wait for his pyre to cool?" Gareth laughed bitterly. "Were you celebrating? Finally free to—"

"Actually," Arthur interrupted, nuzzling into Isolde’s neck in a way that made her shiver visibly, "I helped your mum." His lips brushed her ear as he spoke, loud enough for Gareth to hear. "Though I think we both know what she really wanted."

"Arthur," Isolde murmured, but it sounded more like encouragement than protest.

"STOP!" Gareth screamed, his face contorting with rage and disgust.

"Why?" Arthur asked innocently, his hands sliding along Isolde’s waist. "We’re married now, Gareth. This is perfectly appropriate behavior between husband and wife."

"She’s my MOTHER!"

"And my queen," Arthur countered, pressing a kiss to Isolde’s shoulder that made her sigh softly. "My wife. My woman. While you’ve been lying here powerless, I’ve been taking care of everything you couldn’t protect."

Gareth’s face went from red to white. "You’re sick. Both of you are sick!"

"We’re in love," Isolde said simply, turning in Arthur’s arms to face him, her hands resting on his chest. "Something your father and I never had."

"Don’t talk about Dad while you’re—" Gareth gestured wildly at their entwined bodies.

Arthur smirked, deliberately running his hand down Isolde’s back. "Your father is dead, Gareth. And soon I’ll be king. Your mother will be my queen in every way that matters." He paused, meeting Gareth’s horrified gaze. "She already is, actually. Has been for weeks."

"I’ll tell everyone," Gareth whispered, but his voice was broken. "The whole kingdom will know—"

"What? That their soon-to-be king has claimed his queen?" Arthur laughed. "That the woman who was wasted on a weak king has found a stronger one? Go ahead. Tell them how you couldn’t protect your mother’s honor. How you lay here helpless while I made her mine."

Isolde turned to look at Gareth, still held firmly in Arthur’s embrace. "I’m sorry you had to find out this way, Gareth.