I Am The Game's Villain Chapter 746: [Final Event] [Blood Moon Festival] [28] Alvara VS Cyril

"Alvara...?"

Celeste’s voice was barely a whisper, thin and strained by a mixture of shock, disbelief, and sheer exhaustion.

"A–Are you okay?"

A small, hesitant voice rose from behind her. The young boy, his hands tightly gripping her dress, stuttered with wide eyes that shimmered with concern.

Celeste gave him a faint, instinctive nod and a weak smile, attempting to offer some small comfort despite her state.

Although a massive spike of blood had impaled her abdomen, the air suddenly filled with a crystalline snap as frost surged across its surface. Before panic could set in, ice had already sealed the puncture. The agony remained, but the cessation of the bleeding was enough to keep her on her feet.

"As always..." Alvara remarked, her pale golden eyes drifting toward Celeste. "You manage to look so pathetically miserable."

Had she the strength, Celeste might have offered a scoff in return. She did not.

"What are you doing here...?" she managed to ask, stunned to see Alvara of all people in this place.

Ignoring the question, Alvara turned her head slowly, surveying the carnage of the battlefield like someone searching for a misplaced item.

"...I don’t see my Love," she murmured to herself, lightly tapping her cheek. "Where is he?"

Celeste’s eye gave an involuntary twitch.

"Love... you mean Amael?" Her voice cracked slightly—a lingering sting from a history she wished to erase. Her expression darkened a moment later. "Why are you looking for him...?"

It was painfully clear that Celeste did not believe Amael was anywhere near Central Vedelia.

Alvara’s brow furrowed.

"...Strange."

Logically, he should have arrived by now. She had handled Sephira on his behalf, and even though she had finished quickly, Amael was still nowhere to be found.

Unless something else had delayed him.

Before her thoughts could go further—

"Well, Alvara. What a surprise seeing you here."

Cyril’s voice arrived with a faint, arrogant smirk.

Alvara’s attention shifted to him.

She merely raised her hand—

In an instant, Cyril was forced backward as golden vines burst from the ground like spears at a terrifying speed. The earth shattered violently, splintering as the flora emerged.

Before he could even catch his breath—

More followed.

Thorned vines erupted behind him, coiling and striking like predatory snakes.

His sword became a flash of light.

Once. Twice. Ten times. He was a blur of motion, slicing through every vine. Petals and thorns were scattered into the air like storm-driven debris. Cyril parried every attack with ease... until—

He swung his blade in a massive, blood-charged arc.

-BOOOOM!

A powerful shockwave tore outward, sending a circular blast of dust and stone into the air.

"You can’t beat me with such cheap attacks, Alvara," he sneered.

Alvara let out a sigh, looking almost bored.

The ring on her finger emitted a faint glow. Her white umbrella broke apart into golden specks of light, disappearing into its storage dimension.

She held up her empty hand, fingers loose.

Then, she summoned it.

A sword—tall, elegant, and breathtakingly beautiful. The silver-gold metal shone like moonlight, its hilt adorned with delicate engravings of golden flora. It appeared more like a holy relic than a tool for slaughter.

She raised the blade.

And vanished.

-BOOOOOOM!

The air ruptured as steel collided at extreme speeds.

Cyril barely managed to block the strike, his eyes wide with instinctive shock at her sudden acceleration. The force of the impact created a crater beneath them, with cracks spreading out like a spider’s web.

Waves of golden mana roared around her.

Then she struck.

Again.

Again.

Again.

It was a relentless storm of slashes—precise and perfectly timed. There was no wasted energy in her movements. Every blow targeted the weakest points of his guard, and every step she took forced Cyril back. Those small retreats began to add up.

Each collision sent shockwaves through the air.

And yet...

He possessed more raw power. Physically, he was stronger.

He should have been the one dominating the fight.

But he wasn't.

Because her skill was superior.

She was cleaner, sharper, and more calculated—every angle was dominant. She didn't try to overpower his blade; she danced around it.

Thin lacerations began to mark his cheek, then his arm, then his ribs. Small, precise wounds accumulated. His regeneration flared to life, sealing the cuts immediately, but Alvara continued her assault without reaction.

"As expected of you!" Cyril’s grin turned feral. His veins pulsed with crimson light. "But let’s step it up!"

Blood Arts exploded into action.

Barbed vines forged of blood lashed out from behind Alvara, aiming for her spine with murderous intent.

But before they could strike—

Golden vines surged from the ground defensively, coiling around the blood constructs and shattering them like glass.

-BOOOOM!

Through the chaos, Alvara never stopped her forward momentum.

Cyril narrowed his eyes.

"All right. Try this."

He unleashed a violent burst of mana and thrust his sword forward with crushing force.

Alvara parried with flawless timing, redirecting the power—but even her perfection had its breaking point.

A sharp sting traveled down her arm.

Her fingers trembled.

Numbness began to set in.

Cyril lunged to seize the opening—

Her face contorted in disgust, as if she were near something foul.

"Don’t touch me."

-BOOOOOOOOM!!

A vast explosion of golden mana erupted, joined by a roaring Prana that made the very air tremble.

Cyril was sent flying backward, skidding across the broken stone, his coat flapping violently in the wind.

Before he could recover his footing—

Several massive golden summoning circles ignited around him in a perfect formation.

One...

Two...

Four...

Eight...

Then—

The plants began to hunt.

Monstrous, carnivorous flora with razor teeth burst from the circles, their massive maws opening like starving divine beasts.

The carnivorous plants attacked without hesitation.

Their jaws snapped open, revealing rows of serrated teeth before light gathered in their throats. Golden energy condensed into glowing spheres, crackling with pure Prana.

The first beam fired—a pillar of searing light that shrieked through the air. Cyril twisted away, his coat fluttering as the blast vaporized a section of a nearby house, turning stone into superheated ash.

There was no respite.

The second plant fired, then the third. Soon, all eight were unleashed in a coordinated barrage. Beams of golden destruction crisscrossed in a lethal web, leaving Cyril no room for error.

He wove through the first volley, his boots scraping the stone as he ducked. A beam scorched his shoulder, burning through both fabric and skin. His regeneration sealed the wound instantly even as he rolled to avoid another shot.

Amidst the roaring light, smoke, and heat, Alvara moved.

She closed the gap in a heartbeat, her sword swinging in a downward arc toward his throat. Cyril’s instincts took over; he raised his blade just in time. Steel screamed against steel as sparks of mana flew between them.

But she was already moving again.

Her sword flowed like liquid, shifting mid-swing into a punishing side slash. Cyril blocked it, but the force rattled his bones. Before he could strike back, a Prana beam whistled past his head, forcing him to lean away—an opening Alvara exploited instantly.

Her blade sliced across his ribs. It was shallow and clean, but blood sprayed.

"Tch—!"

Cyril gritted his teeth as his blood mana surged. Crimson tendrils erupted from his back like whips, lashing at Alvara from three directions with brutal speed.

Alvara didn't flinch.

Golden vines rose from the earth to intercept two of the whips, crushing them into mist. She deflected the third with her sword, the impact sending a shockwave through the area.

But Cyril’s assault didn't stop.

Dozens of tendrils now multiplied like a hydra, snaking through the air and launching from unpredictable angles. When one wrapped around her ankle, she severed it immediately. Another grazed her shoulder, drawing blood.

Her expression remained stoic.

She stepped forward.

One of the carnivorous plants fired again, its beam vaporizing several blood tendrils at once. Cursing, Cyril summoned a blood shield, which absorbed the impact with a deafening crack.

Alvara was already upon him.

Her sword fell like a sentence of judgment, striking the center of the shield. Cracks began to splinter the surface. Cyril poured more mana into the defense, his veins glowing, but she struck again and again. Every blow was methodical, hitting the exact same spot.

The shield shattered.

Her blade cut through, slicing his forearm. Blood sprayed, and for a fraction of a second, his grip faltered. That was all she needed.

With a twist of her wrist, she redirected her momentum into a lightning-fast thrust aimed at his chest.

Cyril jerked back, but he wasn't fast enough.

The tip of her sword pierced his shoulder, passing through muscle and scraping bone before she withdrew in one fluid motion.

He let out a roar as blood mana exploded from him in a violent burst. The shockwave pushed her back just enough for him to reset.

"You’re good," he said, a grin showing through his bloodied teeth. "But you’re still the weaker one."

Crimson light swirled around him like a storm. His wounds closed almost instantly as flesh knit back together. He raised his sword, which was now covered in pulsing blood constructs.

He lunged.

-BOOOOM!!

The collision was like thunder.

Alvara met the strike head-on. The force of their blades meeting caused the ground to buckle and crack. Shockwaves rippled out, sending dust and debris flying in every direction.

Celeste watched, immediately shielding the boy in her arms.

Cyril pushed harder, putting raw power into every swing. His attacks were heavier and more aggressive, designed to overwhelm her. He forced her back—one step, then two—his grin growing as victory seemed within reach.

But Alvara’s gaze remained icy.

She parried another heavy blow, redirecting it to avoid the brunt of the force, and slipped inside his guard. Her sword became a blur—a sequence of thrusts and slashes targeting his joints and tendons.

A cut on his wrist. One on his thigh. A graze on his neck.

The wounds were shallow, but they were numerous. His regeneration was fast, but it couldn't keep up perfectly. For every injury he healed, Alvara inflicted two more.

Another Prana beam shrieked past, forcing Cyril to divide his attention. He blocked it with a blood construct, but the moment of distraction was costly.

Alvara’s blade flashed.

-SPURT!

She severed his left hand.

Blood erupted as his fingers, still holding a dagger, fell to the earth.

Cyril staggered, shocked by the strange, fluid movement of her sword. His regeneration began to bubble and reform the limb, but she gave him no breathing room.

She moved in dangerously close, her sword turning into a whirlwind.

One thrust. Two. Three.

Each strike broke through his defenses, piercing his abdomen. Four. Five. Six.

Her movements were surgical and without hesitation.

Seven. Eight. Nine.

Blood flowed from Cyril’s torso as his regeneration struggled to keep pace with the damage.

Ten.

Eleven.

The final thrust went deep into his gut with brutal finality before she twisted her blade and pulled back.

Cyril gasped, blood leaking from his mouth.

He hadn't even tried to dodge, and he smirked despite the damage.

His eyes glowed crimson. With a surge of mana, he channeled power into his leg and kicked with blinding speed.

-BAM!

Alvara’s eyes widened as his boot struck her ribs with enough power to crush stone. The world became a blur as the air was forced from her lungs. Her body was launched backward, skidding across the battlefield before crashing into a ruined wall.

Dust filled the air.

For a moment, a heavy silence fell.

Cyril stood hunched over, blood dripping from his body as his regeneration worked to close the eleven holes in his stomach.

"Not... bad," he coughed, spitting out blood.

Alvara pushed herself up from the wreckage of stone and earth.

She pressed a hand firmly against her stomach, her fingers digging into the cloth as waves of pain washed over her.

She took a moment just to breathe.

It had been a long time since she had been hit hard enough to truly feel pain. Perhaps not since her fight with Elizabeth.

She was powerful and feared, but her physical form was still that of a High Elf.

She was elegant, yet fundamentally fragile.

Looking down at herself, her expression twisted—not because of her fractured ribs or the glass-like pain of every breath, but because her pristine dress was now stained with blood.

It was red and hideous.

"...I really cannot allow My Love to see me in such a state," she whispered, feeling mortified.

"ALVARA!!"

Celeste’s scream pierced through the smoke.

Alvara reacted on pure instinct.

She spun around, her sword swinging in a lethal arc—

—and stopped.

One inch.

The blade rested a single trembling inch from a man’s throat.

Her golden eyes widened in shock.

It wasn't just anyone.

It was Kendel Teraquin.

Her older brother.

"H–How..." she whispered, her voice choked with disbelief.

Her gaze sharpened as she grew wary—

But she didn't get the chance to move.

Before she could even process a thought, Kendel’s fist slammed into the same spot Cyril had kicked.

Alvara tried to endure it, but her body gave out. Pain exploded within her. Her legs failed, and her vision blurred.

Kendel Teraquin had not held back.

"K—Kendel..." she breathed as her eyes grew heavy.

Consciousness faded like sand slipping through her fingers.

He caught her gently before she collapsed.

"HEY—!!" Celeste yelled, rushing forward with magic sparking around her—

"Take her away," Kendel interrupted.

Celeste stopped in her tracks.

Kendel looked down at Alvara, his thumb moving a stray strand of green hair from her cheek. He handled her with extreme care, as if she were something precious.

"...I’m sorry, Freydis," he whispered softly.

With a quiet motion, he lifted his unconscious sister and handed her to Celeste.

"Take her to the Tree. Find somewhere safe," Kendel instructed.

"But—"

"Now," he said, his voice sharper.

His focus shifted, locking onto Cyril.

Celeste swallowed hard, the tension thick in her throat. She nodded and retreated, carrying Alvara with the small boy following close behind.

"I’ll come back!" she shouted over her shoulder.

But then—

Her eyes fell upon it.

Her grandmother’s body.

Still and lifeless on the ground.

Celeste staggered, her steps faltering.

Her fingers tightened on Alvara’s sleeve as a cold shock filled her chest.

At that moment, green vines grew from the earth, gently embracing Melfina. They wrapped around her until she was held in a cradle of flowers and leaves.

Celeste looked at Kendel.

With a grateful nod, she turned and ran.

Once she was out of sight, Cyril brushed off his shirt and chuckled.

"Well, well. I thought you might finally listen to reason, Kendel." He stretched his arms out. "You refused me then, and you refuse me now. So... why are you here?"

Kendel had known the plan all along.

He always did.

If he was appearing now, on the final night of the Blood Moon Festival...

Then this day was no accident.

Kendel looked toward the ground.

He saw Alvara’s sword.

He knelt, retrieved it, and stood up.

"I cannot wash away my sins," he said quietly. "But I can still protect my family’s future."

Cyril laughed—a harsh, unpleasant sound. "Regret? From you? After all this?" His face twisted in disgust. "That is the most pathetic thing you’ve ever said, Kendel."

Kendel gave no reply.

He simply looked away.

"...!"

Without warning—

A violent gust of wind hit Cyril like a massive storm.

-BOOOOOOM!!!

"UGHHH!" Cyril grunted, staggering as the wind cut into him. It felt like thousands of tiny razors carving into his skin. Blood misted into the air.

He forced himself to stand, using his sword to cut through the gale and snarling at the chaos.

A silhouette appeared through the wind.

Long silver hair flowed like silk in the moonlight.

Her mismatched eyes—two different shades of cold green—stared at him with freezing intensity.

"Death is the only ending for you, Cyril," she stated. "I hope you’re prepared."

Cyril smirked, wiping the blood from his face.