I Am The Game's Villain Chapter 762: [Second Game] [Epilogue] [2]

Inside the inner realm, Nemesis occupied Amael’s freshly claimed form.

Ultimately, she had secured the prize she sought.

A fresh form. More powerful. An ideal container for her cherished Samael. A form untouched by Nihil’s corrupt grasp, free from any hint of his meddling.

That was her desire.

Yet it fell short of her deepest longing.

No...

A warped grin spread across Nemesis’s face as she ventured further into Amael’s soul domain.

Previously, she had been barred from such depths. In the old Amael, Nihil had guarded him against all external forces, particularly from her. Each attempt to connect had slammed into an unbreakable barrier.

But now, no barrier remained.

At last, she could behold Wrath—and the Aithra.

Her arm extended, her silhouette melting into the shadows composing Amael.

"Samael~" she murmured.

Concealed by the dark blindfold, her eyes appeared to shimmer with eager expectation.

Then it appeared before her.

And she halted abruptly.

Sloth lingered there.

Wrath was present as well—but altered.

"No..."

Nemesis dissolved from her spot and materialized next to the enormous, churning orb of deep violet before her. It throbbed like a beating heart of raging purple tempests.

This was Wrath.

Though not completely.

"No..."

The word escaped her lips this time as a faint whisper.

Her fingers shook as they neared the whirlpool. They grazed Wrath’s edge—and she sensed it.

This was merely a piece.

A mere fragment of the authentic Wrath.

And the Aithra...

It had never resided here.

She had envisioned her revived Samael claiming the Aithra, harnessing it with Wrath in a state beyond the reach of any deity or beast.

But it was absent.

Beneath the blindfold, her eyes flared wide.

Nihil.

***

Across a sprawling, enchanting garden of golden meadows and myriad blooming flowers, a soft wind glided over the terrain.

Birds in every form and hue soared beneath an infinite heaven.

A sanctuary reserved solely for the mighty Gods to witness.

The Garden of Eden.

In the far reaches, a pristine tower ascended, twisting skyward in a captivating arc. Vines and blooms of all shades draped its flanks, gently rocking in the breeze.

At the tower’s peak rested a smaller garden—flawless in every detail. Each blossom there felt handpicked, positioned with exquisite precision.

Wings of celestial grace sliced through the air.

A silhouette descended, touching down at the tower’s apex while maintaining a reverent space from the garden’s border. He knelt instantly upon landing on the stone, his head lowered in profound respect.

"Your Divine Grace."

His words addressed the lady perched at the tower’s rim, encircled by her blossoms.

With knees tucked against her chest and arms encircling them, she stared into the distant void. She remained motionless. Petals floated by on the gusts, nesting in her flowing locks and upon her snowy robe.

The man held his patience.

Receiving no reply, he pushed past his reluctance and pressed on.

"A new Vessel for Samael Eveningstar has emerged," he announced.

Quiet enveloped the space once more.

For an extended instant, nothing stirred.

Gradually, the woman shifted.

She stood with serene elegance. Her tresses—exceptionally lengthy, silky smooth, a soft pink that gleamed like light—cascaded in a dense braid adorned with blooms, trailing down her spine. Her spotless white dress bore flecks of petals, as if the garden had embraced her.

Her hair divided as movement stirred underneath.

Wings extended from her shoulders.

Not a single set.

Three.

Six divine wings unfolded in grand display, capturing the radiance until she radiated brilliance. The man at her back averted his eyes deeper, wonder constricting his voice.

Hovering over her crown, a pink halo flickered softly, its light throbbing once.

"Summon Nihil," she commanded, her tone gentle and melodic.

With that, she advanced and launched into the heavens.

"As you command."

The man inclined his head in deeper obeisance.

"Lady Raphiel."

***

"Impossible..."

In a stark white void, Nihil stood gripped by total shock.

He could no longer locate it.

It had been stolen.

His complexion drained of color.

The perpetrator revealed itself without delay.

"Nevia..."

Only she possessed the cunning to execute such a deception.

But from what point?

To what extent had she pierced his facade?

***

Buried deep within a mountain, under thick veils of rock and hush, a cave expanded into an immense hall. Innumerable candles wavered along the rough walls, their fires quivering faintly as if daunted by the encroaching gloom.

From the shadows below, faint, shattered cries reverberated.

They came from Samara.

She crouched on the frigid floor, her frame huddled guardedly over Annabella’s still corpse. The girl’s lids were shut, a subtle, tranquil smile etched on her mouth as if she had slipped into a calm slumber rather than the grave.

A few paces away stood Sylvia.

One side of her face lay in shadow, the other exposing her absent silver orb.

Her lone eye fixed ahead, unwavering.

Samara’s tear-smeared eyes rose as a surge of mana rippled the atmosphere.

The youth shackled at the chamber’s heart jerked. His partially lidded silver eyes blinked abruptly, as though vitality surged anew within them.

Moments later, his digits clenched.

The heavy iron restraints on his wrists fragmented like brittle shards within the intricate runes carved upon them.

His uncovered foot advanced.

All chains holding him snapped simultaneously, segments tumbling onto the rocky ground. Encircling and overhead, the sealing arrays—elaborate patterns shimmering with ancient energy—flared briefly, then faded away.

Across his torso, a light green mark ignited—a threefold spiral design incised profoundly into his flesh. It throbbed subtly, akin to its own rhythmic pulse.

He gradually unveiled his gaze.

Two radiant silver pupils, strikingly pure and exquisite, pierced the dimness.

Sylvia regarded him.

This marked the genuine form of Nyrel Loyster—concealed by Nihil since he assumed dominion over it. Nihil had always refrained from fusing Nyrel, the vessel of Wrath and the Aithra, with Amael. Such a union would prove excessively perilous.

Instead, he had forged a fabricated consciousness, drawing out just a portion of Nyrel’s recollections and a shard of Wrath, embedding them into Amael.

No real fusion had occurred. No true soul transfer.

Merely a cunning replication designed to deceive all, above all Nemesis.

Nihil’s caution bordered on obsession, preserving Nyrel’s actual body pristine—right up until Nevia uncovered it.

Yet now...

Nyrel appeared transformed.

His flesh gleamed snow-pale, subtly aglow like sculpted ivory. His traits echoed Nyrel’s, yet refined—keener, bordering on ethereal perfection.

Edward’s stare held steady for a prolonged beat.

Then a golden radiance unfurled over his right limb, expanding like a vital motif.

The insignia of the Tree of Ymir’s Guardian reemerged, reclaiming its former bearer.

He lifted his palm deliberately.

Violet-black flames erupted in his grasp—a spectral, dancing blaze that threw distorted silhouettes onto the stone. The Anathemas Fire had deepened, grown more voracious.

Wrath surged around his frame in slender, fierce tendrils.

His silver strands lifted in the scorching draft, and the fine golden studs Cleenah had once attached to his lobes tinkled faintly with the motion.

Sylvia gazed, words failing her.

This was Cleenah’s creation—her ultimate offering. She had channeled her essence into remolding Nyrel’s physique, fortifying it, cleansing it, rendering it able to endure the crushing burden of Wrath and Aithra.

His skeleton, his conduits, his mana pathways...

All had been reborn.

A physique forged wholly from Cleenah’s vitality.

Edward’s gaze dipped faintly.

"I see now."

[END OF THE SECOND GAME]