I Am The Game's Villain

Chapter 762: [Second Game] [Epilogue] [2]

Nemesis stood within Amael’s new body—in the world inside.

She had gotten what she wanted in the end.

A new body. Stronger. A perfect Vessel for her beloved Samael. A body that Nihil’s filthy hands had never touched, with no trace of his influence anywhere.

That was what she had wanted.

But it wasn’t what she had wanted most.

No...

Nemesis’s smile twisted as she stepped deeper into Amael’s soul world.

She had never been allowed this far before. In the previous Amael, Nihil had shielded him from every outside influence, especially from her. Every time she tried to reach, she had met a wall.

Now there was no wall.

Now, she could finally see Wrath—and the Aithra.

She reached out her hand, her figure slipping into the darkness that made up Amael.

”Samael~” She whispered.

Her eyes, hidden behind the black blindfold, seemed to glow with anticipation.

Then she saw it.

And froze.

Sloth was there.

Wrath was there too—but wrong.

”No...”

Nemesis vanished from where she stood and reappeared beside the massive, swirling core of dark violet ahead of her. It pulsed like a living heart of storming purple.

This was Wrath.

But not entirely.

”No...”

She repeated the word, this time barely a breath.

Her hand trembled as she reached toward the vortex. Her fingers brushed the surface of Wrath—and she felt it.

This was only a fragment.

A sliver of the true Wrath.

And the Aithra...

It had never been here at all.

She had wanted her resurrected Samael to possess the Aithra, to wield it alongside Wrath in a form no god or monster could touch.

But it wasn’t there.

Her eyes widened beneath the blindfold.

Nihil.

***

In a vast, beautiful garden of golden grasses and countless kinds of flowers, a gentle breeze swept across the land.

Birds of every shape and color flew through an endless sky.

A place only the great Gods were permitted to behold.

The Garden of Eden.

Far in the distance, a white tower rose, spiraling upward in a mesmerizing curve. Vines and blossoms of every color hung from its sides, swaying softly in the wind.

At the summit of that tower lay another garden—smaller, but perfect. Every flower there seemed chosen one by one, arranged with impossible care.

Angelic wings cut through the sky.

A figure descended and landed at the very top of the tower, keeping a respectful distance from the garden’s edge. He dropped to one knee the moment his feet touched the stone, head bowed deeply.

”Your Divine Grace.”

He spoke to the woman seated at the edge of the tower, surrounded by her flowers.

She sat with her knees drawn close to her chest, arms wrapped around them, gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the horizon. She did not stir. Petals drifted past her in the wind, settling in her long hair and on her white gown.

The man waited.

When no answer came, he swallowed his hesitation and continued.

”A new Vessel of Samael Eveningstar has been born,” he said.

Silence fell again.

For a long moment, there was no reaction.

Then, slowly, the woman moved.

She rose to her feet with quiet grace. Her hair—very long, very soft, a pale pink that looked almost luminous—hung in a thick braid woven with flowers, falling down along her back. Her gown, pure white, was dusted with petals as if the garden itself had claimed her.

Her hair parted as something shifted beneath it.

Wings unfurled from her back.

Not one pair.

Three.

Six angelic wings spread in full, majestic span, catching the light until she seemed to glow. The man behind her lowered his gaze even further, awe tightening his throat.

Above her head, a pink halo shimmered faintly, its glow pulsing once.

”Bring forth Nihil,” she said, her voice delicate and soft.

Then she stepped forward and soared into the sky.

”As you wish.”

The man nodded his head bowing further.

”Lady Raphiel.”

***

”Impossible...”

Nihil stood in utter disbelief in a white space.

He couldn’t find it anymore.

It had been taken away.

His face turned pale.

The culprit became clear quickly.

”Nevia...”

She was the only one who could have pulled off such a trick.

But since when?

How far did she see through him?

***

Deep inside a mountain, far beneath layers of stone and silence, a cavern opened into a vast chamber. Countless candles flickered along the jagged walls, their flames trembling weakly as if afraid of the darkness pressing in around them.

From somewhere in the depths, soft, broken sobs echoed.

They belonged to Samara.

She knelt on the cold ground, her body curled protectively around Annabella’s lifeless form. The girl’s eyes were closed, a faint, serene smile still lingering on her lips as though she had drifted into a peaceful dream instead of death.

Standing a few meters ahead was Sylvia.

Half her face was shadowed, and the other half revealed her missing silver eye.

Her remaining eye stared forward, unblinking.

Samara’s tear-stained gaze lifted as she felt a wave of mana stir the air.

The young man chained at the center of the chamber twitched. His half-open silver eyes fluttered suddenly, as if life was being poured back into them.

A heartbeat later, his fingers tightened.

The thick iron chains binding his wrists shattered like glass along the complex circles etched into them.

His bare foot stepped forward.

Every chain anchoring him broke in unison, links clattering to the stone floor. Above and around him, the seal circles—complex arrays glowing faintly with old power—flickered once, then vanished entirely.

On his chest, a pale green symbol glowed to life—a triple-spiraling pattern etched deep into his skin. It pulsed faintly like a heartbeat of its own.

Slowly he opened his eyes.

A pair of luminous silver irises, impossibly clear and beautiful, stared out from the shadows.

Sylvia looked at him.

This was the true body of Nyrel Loyster—hidden away by Nihil ever since he seized control of it. Nihil had never dared merge Nyrel, the bearer of Wrath and the Aithra, into Amael. That would have been far too dangerous.

So he had crafted an artificial mind instead, extracting only a sliver of Nyrel’s memories and a fragment of Wrath, implanting them into Amael.

There had never been a true merging. No transmigration.

Just a calculated imitation to trick everyone, especially Nemesis.

Nihil was careful to a fault, and he had kept Nyrel’s real body untouched—until Nevia discovered it.

But now...

Nyrel looked different.

His skin had turned snow-white, faintly luminescent like polished marble. His features were still Nyrel’s, but finer—sharper, almost inhumanly perfect.

Edward’s gaze remained still for a long moment.

Then a golden light bloomed across his right arm, spreading like a living pattern.

The emblem of the Guardian of the Tree of Ymir carved itself back into existence, reclaiming the one who had once carried it.

He raised his hand slowly.

Dark purple fire ignited in his palm—an eerie, flickering flame that cast warped shadows across the stone. The Anathemas Fire had grown darker, hungrier.

Wrath crackled around his body in thin, violent ribbons.

His silver hair drifted back in the heated wind, and the delicate golden earrings Cleenah had once fastened to his ears chimed softly with the movement.

Sylvia stared, unable to speak.

This was Cleenah’s work—her final sacrifice. She had poured her life into reshaping Nyrel’s body, strengthening it, purifying it, making it capable of withstanding the overwhelming weight of Wrath and Aithra.

His bones, his vessels, his mana flow...

Everything had been reforged.

A body built entirely from Cleenah’s life.

”I will always be with you, Edward.”

Edward’s eyes lowered slightly.

”I see now.”

[END OF THE SECOND GAME]