I Am The Game's Villain Chapter 760: [Final Event] [Blood Moon Festival] [End]

-Spurt!!

Time appeared to drag on as the dagger plunged straight into my torso.

Icy steel shattered bone. The force knocked the air from my lungs, and a warm torrent of blood surged from my lips. My head snapped downward in shock, then rose with great strain.

Kleines remained there, his arm outstretched, his features frozen like stone, his gaze devoid of emotion.

"You've caused plenty of ruin to my homeland, beast," he declared, his tone as frigid as his stare.

My palm reacted without thought.

I seized his wrist, my digits clamping onto the hand gripping the knife's handle—pale, ritualistic, elegant in design, completely out of place embedded in my body. For an instant, I believed I might yank it free.

Kleines rotated it further inward.

"...!"

My respiration hitched in my windpipe. My eyes widened in alarm.

It went beyond mere suffering.

Something deep within me ripped apart.

The pale dagger started to shimmer, dimly at the beginning, then increasingly vivid. Golden inscriptions carved into its edge sparked into being, sequentially, until the entire weapon throbbed with radiance.

Some essence was being drawn from me. I sensed it—like my innermost self being tugged through a tiny aperture.

No!!

I attempted to resist with all that remained, but my form grew leaden, lethargic, draining away. The harder I struggled, the quicker it faded. Wrath failed to respond. Mana failed to respond. My digits quivered pointlessly around his wrist.

Kleines rotated it once more.

"This ends now," he stated.

Brilliance engulfed the dagger.

"Agghh—!!!"

The cry tore from my throat as though it were my final possession. Agony didn't merely pierce; it dug in. It raked through bone and sinews, embedded fangs into forbidden depths. It seemed like invisible grips were delving into my torso, extracting my very essence and hauling it along the edge.

Golden inscriptions slithered from the dagger onto my flesh.

They extended along my limbs, across my upper body, winding around my torso, my neck, my chin. Each one branded itself in like searing liquid, scorching into tissue gradually. My expression contorted; I couldn't even shut my jaws against the torment. All I managed was to gape, eyes bulging, as the glow etched its path over my frame.

The torment elongated moments.

Each instant stretched into ages. Every segment the inscriptions advanced felt eternal. I yearned for it to halt. I longed for it to cease.

The symbols completed their path.

Then they shifted.

Suddenly, the inscriptions started to glide—detaching from my skin like flowing gold, moving upward and downward simultaneously. Streams of glow traced over my arms and torso, gathering toward the injury, each mark separating from me and merging back into the weapon that spawned it.

With each symbol that departed, another element faded.

Mana. Vanished.

Wrath. Vanished.

Sloth. Vanished.

Every essence, every accustomed burden I'd borne within for ages, was wrenched away, abandoning only a stark, resonant void. Even Nemesis drifted off, her being severed from mine as effortlessly as a winter gust.

Void.

Absolutely, totally void.

"F—Father!!!"

Christina’s cry pierced the fog around me, shrill and fractured. Footfalls hammered in the background, multiple pairs, hurrying nearer.

Kleines’s gaze darted beyond my back.

He pulled the dagger out sharply.

-Spurt!!

Blood sprayed forth, warm and viscous, drenching my garment, leaking through my grasp as I sank to one knee, then both. The surroundings spun. My palm clamped automatically over the gash in my torso, yet no mana remained to heed it, no strength to halt the hemorrhage.

"Stay away, Christina!" Kleines bellowed.

"N–No! Why did you strike him?! He requires healing!" Christina’s tone broke, laced with desperation.

"I warned you he isn't Amael!"

"K–Kleines... what have you done..." Alea’s words quivered, positioned somewhere in the rear.

"Witness it."

My sight hazed over.

I gazed at my palm clamped to my torso.

Fissures etched over my skin, slender pale streaks emanating from my digits, surging up my lower arm. It resembled fine china on the verge of shattering, each split emitting a soft inner glow. Crimson oozed amid them, falling in sluggish, weighty droplets from my wrist.

I felt weightless.

Not pleasantly so.

Barren. As though an unseen force had hollowed me out internally, abandoning merely this husk crouched in its own crimson puddle.

No mana. No Wrath. No Sloth. No Nemesis.

Nothing.

Only myself—and I questioned what remained without the others.

Air wheezed in my throat as I compelled my head upward.

Beyond my shoulder, I spotted it—a pale rectangular container nearby. The identical one Jack Rengel had carried. Its exterior gleamed smoothly, nearly blank, poised.

Kleines advanced toward it with deliberate strides, the ritual dagger still faintly luminous in his grip. He crouched by the container, disregarding the grabs at his limb, the calls of his name.

He thrust the pale dagger into it.

For a moment, silence reigned.

Then the container throbbed.

Once.

The dagger lodged within ignited, golden radiance erupting from the inscriptions along its form. That shimmer overflowed, creeping onto the container's face like molten daylight. Patterns began inscribing themselves into the pale substance, rows of symbols expanding outward.

-THUD!

The earth quaked under my knees.

-THUD!

The throb returned, more intense now. The symbols proliferated, encasing the whole container in elaborate designs, each fresh stroke searing into being with unyielding accuracy.

-THUD!

Each pulse accelerated beyond the previous, a rhythm turned frantic. The ground quivered in sync, debris cascading from fractured rock, scattered stones bouncing with every profound, vibrating boom.

"Retreat," Kleines commanded.

The rest drew back on reflex.

I drew in labored breaths, observing blankly, vacantly. Ideas refused to form. All that had transpired—the elements torn from me—had carved out a numb, reverberating emptiness where thoughts belonged.

All I could manage was to watch and anticipate what followed.

The vibration ceased.

-Crack!

A slender split raced across the pale container's face.

-Crack! Crack! Crack!

Further breaks webbed out, covering all surfaces. Within moments, the entire container became a lattice of disintegrating cracks. Radiance seeped through—golden and intense—before exploding outward in a surge.

A burst of brilliance swept across us.

The pale substance shattered, crumbling into powder and fragments that dissolved into the blaze. I narrowed my eyes, tears welling, sight overwhelmed in amber.

As the glow dimmed at last, I pried my eyes open—and stiffened.

A youth rested there, bare upon the shattered rock bathed in golden fluid.

Silver-white locks.

Flawless complexion.

Yet his countenance...

It mirrored mine.

Not precisely. Gentler. More refined. His traits blended more of Alea, and hints of Kleines. Both strange and known, like a polished edition of my own image.

"...!"

Alea’s and Christina’s stares widened in unison.

Kleines conjured a pale fabric with a mana gesture and approached steadily. He knelt, draped the youth tenderly in it. Then he faced Alea, a faint smile brushing his mouth.

"Amael," he announced. "Our son."

I glanced at the youth once more.

Amael.

He appeared a couple years my junior, his build retaining faint youthful edges—but he embodied it fully. The Amael destined to exist. The one this realm awaited.

How...?

How could that be?

Alea advanced on shaky limbs. Midway, her legs gave way and she collapsed before him, enfolding Amael to her bosom as if fearing he'd dissolve without her clasp.

His brows stirred.

Gradually, his lids parted, unveiling rich amber orbs. They fixed on Alea’s visage, sharpening, grounding.

"M–Mother..." He murmured, tone faint and mild, softer than mine ever was.

"...!"

Tears traced down Alea’s face in quiet rivulets. She regarded him stunned, then shifted her tearful eyes to Kleines.

"W–What have you done...?" She inquired, voice quaking.

"I restored our son," he answered. "Our genuine son, free of an invader from beyond."

His gaze shifted to me as he spoke.

All eyes turned my way.

Amael gripped Alea’s attire feebly, breaths faint and erratic, yet vital and authentic.

"He recalls all events up to his infestation two years past," Kleines stated icily.

Two years past.

When I gained Nyrel Loyster’s recollections. When Aurora ended the betrothal.

Infested.

That was their term for it.

I never sought this. Never desired to arrive here. Never wished to occupy his role. None of it was my doing.

"Edward!!"

Milleia’s cry shattered as she dashed toward me—only to get restrained. Jayden’s fingers locked on her arm, pinning her still.

"W–What are you doing, Jayden?! E–Edward! He needs aid!" She wailed, straining to break loose.

"Can't you see, Milleia?" He retorted, gaze fixed on me. "It's finished for him."

"...!"

Milleia recoiled, facing me. Her mouth quivered, silent.

Alea caressed Amael’s tresses with a care I'd never received so purely. Each gesture was soft, reverent, like handling a holy relic. Kleines loomed above, his look easing into subdued satisfaction as he observed.

"Ugh—"

Crimson flooded my mouth as I hacked, frame convulsing. Christina emerged from her stupor first, eyes snapping to me.

"Hey!!"

She broke from the group and charged my way—but Kleines’s grip seized her wrist.

"What are you doing, Christina? Your sibling is here," he remarked.

Christina denied it with a shake, tears already cascading down her face.

"W–What do you mean? He... he is—"

"Enough," I interrupted.

My words emerged hoarse, frailer than anticipated, yet they projected.

They all faced me.

Deliberately, I raised my hand to my throat.

Two pendants dangled there.

The first: a strand with a dark medallion—the one Alea bestowed on Amael before dispatching him to Celesta, to bind his lineage.

The second: the Olphean Emblem, that very token she’d given me.

Both offerings.

Both intended for him.

My digits curled around them. The flesh on my hand fractured more, gaps deepening as the minor act strained damaged tissue.

I ripped them off.

The strand broke with a sharp, fragile snap.

Without averting from Alea and the youth she cradled, I hurled the pendants their way.

Seeing both land nearby, Alea started and directed her eyes at me.

She eased Amael to the earth, as if the breeze could harm him, then rose shakily, reluctance in each movement.

"I am not your son," I declared. "And I am not your brother."

"N–No, that’s—"

"Don’t deny it," I halted Christina. "Or else this wouldn't have occurred."

"I–It might be true..." Christina breathed, pulling free from Kleines’s hold. "T–That on some level I treated you apart, and I sensed you weren't my brother, but..." She gnawed her lip, tears flowing unchecked. "After this year... I can't see you as an outsider. You matter to me, so please—"

"Christina! I revealed his real nature!" Kleines yelled.

"It wasn't him!" Christina’s retort rang out, fiercer than his. "I–I know it wasn't him!" She met my eyes directly. "He isn't that way!"

"You understand nothing, Christina. See the chaos he's wrought around you. He's to blame for that," Kleines insisted.

"S–Still..." Christina balled her hands until her joints blanched. "I won't accept it. He cherished and loved us as real kin," she added, facing Alea. "He rescued you, Mother, risking his life!"

Alea’s eyes glistened.

"H–He saved me too. Without him, I... I might not have endured this year. So I accept you, Nyrel," she stated, advancing a pace. "Y–You can’t abandon us—abandon me after claiming a vital spot in my heart—"

Kleines’s arm extended and seized hers once more.

I regarded them with a numb, remote stare, then dropped my view to my right palm.

Splits veined it, broadening. China-like lines pulsed softly beneath my skin as bits flaked into powder. My digits weakened. Trinity Nihil escaped my hold and dropped, the edge piercing the soil with an empty clang.

"My kin are gone," I uttered deliberately, sensing the breaks extend across my entire form. "My real father and real mother perished. And I had one little sister. She passed too."

They lacked power.

They weren't nobles.

They were plain like any from Earth.

Yet I cherished them above all.

Christina fixed on me, mouth shaking, tears accelerating.

No explanations needed. No comprehension required.

A single glance at me sufficed. My body was disintegrating visibly. I was done.

"I foolishly believed I found kin here. That was my error," I murmured, casting my eyes down.

"N–No..." Christina sobbed, denying with her head.

"It's far too late regardless," I responded, the phrase emerging icy and parched.

I raised my sight to Central Vedelia's heavens.

Dawn approached. Faint dawn glow spread over the devastated city, gentle and uncaring.

I am sorry, everyone.

Ephera...

I truly hoped to locate you once more. I genuinely trusted I could. Yet ultimately, I faltered. How pitiful—especially since you, above others, showed that existence held value even after my whole family vanished. You ignited the initial light in that boundless gloom... and I couldn't grasp it.

Cleenah...

I vowed to you—to myself—that I'd rediscover you. That I'd return fortified, deserving of your welcome. I battled, I withstood all to face you unashamed. But now, I stand unable to fulfill even that basic desire.

Persephone...

I’m sorry. Cleenah once warned that even if I found her, she’d reject me—not from lack of affection, but due to my feeble state. I didn't grasp it then. I do now. Too belatedly, it seems.

Nevia...

I never managed to discuss her with Celeste or glimpse her anew through those eyes. I envisioned the day we'd reunite at last. My affection for Celeste surged once certain she housed Nevia, but... it all evaded me.

Layla...

I assured her I wouldn't perish. That vow I yearned to honor. Yet here I am, shattering it alongside the rest. She desired a household, and I truly longed for it. I’m sorry.

Alvara...

She detested my descent into despair over that cursed Prophecy. She urged me to thrive and hold my head high. In her unique manner, she soothed me. But ultimately... it transpired just as foretold.

Elizabeth...

I liberated her from Sloth. I hoped she'd live freely, embracing a fresh start unburdened by shadows and grim recollections. How naively hopeful. Yet Daleliah and Sandor should accompany her, so perhaps—just perhaps—it's secure. At minimum, Alicia might arrive; I could rely on her.

Annabelle... Samara...

By this point, each should possess their own forms—tangible bodies of vitality and warmth. I ached to witness it, even briefly. But I can depart knowing they'll claim the ordinary existence they merited most.

Aunt Belle...

Amusing, right? Among all... she embraced every part of me. Beyond Alea, beyond Kleines. Even knowing the full grim reality, she viewed me as myself. I wished to express proper gratitude. I suppose that's denied too.

I truly hope she serves as a fine maternal guide for Tihana and Orlin. Superior to what I ever managed. I wasn't a prime parent—far from it.

Even Freyja entered my thoughts in these final instants.

I pledged to release her form... yet failed there too. Yet another vow fractured.

But I sincerely wish you reclaim your authentic body, Freyja.

Reflecting now... I did naught but seal my doom from my arrival in this realm. Repeatedly. Each decision, each route, each 'triumph'... guided me here.

And despite my efforts, this world faces greater peril as the Third Game looms. But... John and Eric persist. Rodolf, Cylien... they'll manage. They're superior to me—finer souls, finer saviors.

Splits inched over my skin. My sight darkened, hues blurring into smears and shades. The final sight was Christina dashing my way, terror contorting her features... and Milleia’s quivering hands extending.

Thus it concludes.

Just as in the Game.

The [Main Antagonist] of the [Second Game] indeed.

That's my ultimate role.

Perhaps... perishing truly suits someone like me after all I've wrought.

I only wished—just once, right at the close—

....someone would embrace me and assure me it was fine.