Some of my favourite characters have been the villains and I can't help but root for them.

I Win Mwhahaha.

"For years you and your followers have cursed me." Lord Marillion positively gleamed at the sight before his throne. This once might hero of the people kneeled before him battered and bruised, cuts streaking across his face and chest. He barely had the strength to lift that arrogant head of his and yet it was still there, that determined defiance that had threatened the power of Lord Marillion so many times. Even now when his death could be imminent or lingering, when there was no one left to fight for, no one lead, no one to rescue him, he held up his head proudly. It made Marillion glad. He wanted to kill not a broken ghost of his enemy but the man who had offered so much opposition and made his eventual victory so much more rewarding. "And now I have won. You are mine to do with what I will. I have created an army neither living nor dead that rivals the legendary warriors of Sdrahcir. An army that has no will of its own, that will never tier, never feel remorse, an army that will only respond to my command and will make me Emperor of the Universe. And now to complete my destiny I have the Hand of Ennaxor that will grant me eternal life."

"Good to hear everything's going so good for you," said the young man chained to the floor, the sarcastic tone was strained and duller than previous confrontations. A full hearted laugh burst from Lord Marillions scarred face, he got up from his throne and sat on the floor in front of the prisoner. "It is so good to hear you speak dear Captain, I was so afraid that I would not hear your voice before you died. Tell me how does it feel to have lost the war? For you won so battles but in the end it is I who succeeded. You see I was destined to rule and you could never stop my destiny, though I admit that you a worthy foe and I always enjoyed battling against you, which is why I have decided that you must be the one to return me my youth. Afterall it was you who stole it from me that day you left me for dead." Marillion lifted his hand and delicately swirled in the air so silver vains that ran through his palm to the tips of his fingers, shimmered in the light. "You see, my noble hero, I have the power in my hand so snatch the life force of others and take it as my own. Your strength will become mine." He moved in closer and whispered. "I will live forever, as Emperor, as a god."

"I pity you."

Marillion frowned at this mistaken choice of words. "I don't understand."

The prisoner smiled. "You may live forever off the lives of others but you will live it alone and that is no life. Enjoy eternity, may it dwindle forever."

Marillion grinned, baring sharpened teeth. Ever the moralistic philosopher. Never one to let you down. "And you enjoy death." His hand shot forward but his palm did not touch the flesh, instead it hovered over the heart. The prisoner stared defiantly into his eyes. He had not flinched and no fear was held in his gaze. Marillion stared back undaunted. He had waited for this moment for so many years, he wanted to savour it, scratch every detail into his mind, then he struck. The captive gasped at the sensation but his gaze did not falter. Not as he aged; his skin shrivelling, his hair fading grey, his heartbeat growing painfully weak. Not as he watched the scars on Marillions face disappear, the youth and strength and beauty return. Even when all life was gone from those eyes they stared forward at their murderer.

Marillion tossed the corpse away and smiled at the sound of the skull cracking against the stone floor. He reached for a mirror that sat at the side of his throne and admired himself. He had forgotten what it felt like to be so young and strong, so powerful. He swaggered over to the window and looked out at the stars, they were his and his alone. There was nothing to stop him now.

Emperor Marillion stared down at the slaves that slept soundlessly on the floor around his bed. The most beautiful men and women from the main systems. They used to be hand picked by him personally, suiting his current tastes and pleasures, but for a long time they had been chosen for him by servants he did not see, renewed periodically or at least as he assumed. It had been an age since he took time to appreciate their beauty. They all looked the same and for all he knew they could be. In fact he hardly bothered with them anymore, a fact that these hidden servants could have taken advantage of as collecting such beautiful stock could be timely. Perhaps he could damage the group to make sure that the next lot were indeed fresh. Maybe he should go out himself like he used to and find some virgins. He could threaten them with the destruction of their villages and the torture of their families, maybe he wouldn't threaten. It had been a long time since he had destroyed a village, burning every house to the ground, slicing up the locals, crippling the survivors. Only those he thought beautiful enough would be graced the absence of his sword. They would be made to watch, then brought to his palace to sleep by his bed like a dog and used as he felt.

He sighed and leaned deeper into his pillows. Maybe a century or two ago he would have revelled at the thought and impulsively choose a planet at random, but now he could not bring forth the effort. What had happened? He looked around him at the treasures that postered the walls, his greatest trophies from past expeditions, not a single one of them from the last two hundreds years. He smiled as his eyes locked on the golden mask of the goddess Skyra. It stared back at him from behind jewelled eyes. That had been the first religion he dismembered. A primitive planet that had put up quite a fuss, claiming to prefer to die rather than deny their gods, so he had the Temples bathed in the blood of the people and the priest and priestesses displayed in a number of ways all around these buildings of gods. Then he forced the people to pay daily visits. There was to be no god to ever rival his power.

He often reminisced about that first hundred years. The thrill of battle as one by one the universe became his. The feeling of invulnerability. Not a single system was left unscathed. Not a planet where his name was not feared. He killed where he pleased, took what he wanted, he was the most powerful being in existence. He still was. He had been for the last four hundred years and would be for many, many more years to come. Those who stood up to him where quickly killed else held for his amusement and soon there were no challengers, no heroes to defend the people. No nothing, no nothing for the last two hundred and fifty years. No food that he had not tasted, no pleasure that he had not felt, no evil that he had not committed. There was nothing more to do. So he lay in his bed, in his mighty palace, the centre of the Universe, bored.