I Am The Game's Villain Chapter 774: [The Rewritten Lost Past] [14]

"What’s going on over there?"

"Open your eyes. That’s Lord Michael."

"Fighting? Since when does he—"

"Two years. Every few days. You’d know that if you came around more."

"Well I don’t, so explain it to me."

"Short version, he’s training someone. Lord Nihil’s son."

"...Which son."

"Think about it. What kind of person gets Michael’s personal attention? The Vessel of Samael Eveningstar of course!"

"The Vessel is here? Right now, he’s in there?"

It drew a crowd the way it always did. Word moved fast through the Garden and angels who had no business being in that part of Eden found reasons to drift over, hovering in loose rings around and above the dome’s golden shell, craning to see through something that wasn’t meant to be seen through. Michael fighting was a rare enough sight. The Vessel of Samael Eveningstar being in the Garden at all was something most of them had never expected to witness.

"He looks... average, honestly."

"He’s getting completely dismantled."

"It’s Lord Michael. What did you expect?"

"Am I the only one who thinks this is a bad idea? Training the Vessel, if he actually gathers the Sins—"

"My grandfather fought in that war. Said what Samael did to our armies wasn’t something you could put words to properly."

"Keep it down. Look where you are."

"What?"

"Down. His mother is sitting right there."

Every gaze dropped.

The silver-haired woman in the grass below sat with her back straight and her hands in her lap and her eyes fixed on the dome ahead, wearing an expression that was outwardly composed and inwardly something else entirely.

"...She’s stunning."

"She’s Lord Nihil’s."

That cleared the conversation immediately. They suddenly found the fight very absorbing and moved on.

Inside, it was a different world entirely.

Amael came in with the sword angled low, Wrath bleeding off the blade in dark crackling ribbons, and Michael glanced at it and redirected the whole swing with a loose wave of one hand. Like swatting something away. Amael’s momentum carried him forward and he nearly went face-first into the dirt before catching himself.

He was a mess. Blood drying above one eye, fresh from his forearm, lungs working harder than they should’ve been twenty minutes ago.

Michael watched him recover with something between boredom and curiosity.

"Genuinely, how long?" He said. "How many more years of this before you manage to actually touch me? I’d like an estimate."

"You have over ten thousand years on me." Amael spit blood to the side, squared up again. "Stupid archangel."

The temperature behind Michael’s eyes dropped.

He vanished.

-BAM!

The kick came from nowhere straight into the gut, with full force, and the sound Amael made was less a grunt and more the noise of a body being completely emptied. He crossed the dome at speed, hit the curved interior wall hard enough to make the whole structure hum, and slid.

He got one knee under him.

Lifted his head.

And Michael was already there.

Amael threw the sword up on reflex, but Michael sidestepped it without blinking, came in from the left, grabbed Amael by the skull with one hand, and threw him into the ground.

-BOOOM!!

The crater opened immediately. Stone fractured, soil heaved outward, and Amael lay at the bottom of it staring up at a circle of open sky while the ringing in his ears found its pitch.

Michael stepped to the edge and looked down at him contemptuously.

"I’ve worked with Vessels before," he said. "You’re below the lowest of them. Nihil talks about you like you’re something. I’ve started to wonder if that’s real conviction or just a father who can’t see his own son clearly. Because what I’m looking at right now isn’t Samael Eveningstar’s legacy. It’s a boy who was handed a title he hasn’t come close to earning."

Amael pushed himself to his feet, blood glinting at the corner of his mouth, anger sharpening every word that escaped his lips. "You think I wanted to earn that?" He spat, glare locked on Michael. "You talk as if it’s some divine gift."

Michael’s lips curled up. "It should be a blessing, Amael. For someone as weak and insignificant as you. Without the Vessel’s purpose, you wouldn’t even exist."

Amael chuckled, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. "And you wouldn’t exist without Raphiel," he countered. "Her blood was the seed that birthed your that stupid triad of Archangels you are part of and all who followed. I wonder, does she secretly hate you for that? For what you became from her sacrifice?"

Michael’s smirk vanished instantly. In a mere blink, his form disappeared, the very air distorting as his presence withdrew. However, Amael anticipated this exact move, having prepared for it this time. He dropped swiftly, contorting his body with practiced grace, and sent a low, sweeping kick towards the anticipated reappearance point of Michael.

Yet, Michael intercepted the attack mid-spin, his grip like iron clamping onto Amael’s leg. Despite being caught, Amael foresaw this counter. With lightning speed, he brought his sword down, its edge blazing with crackling Wrath as it descended.

Michael’s palm shot upwards with astonishing speed, once again meeting Amael’s wrist. The sword was wrenched from his grasp, sent spinning into the air. But as it ascended, Amael thrust out his left hand, conjuring a glowing, golden circle with humming lines. It was an Edenic Circle.

Michael’s eyes widened in shock. "This...!"

"This one’s for you," Amael gritted out, the words strained. "Face what you dish out, Michael."

-BOOOOM!

A blinding explosion of light consumed Michael at point-blank range. Amael, staggering back, gasped for air, his body sliding across the floor as his chest heaved. Smoke billowed, obscuring the dome. For a tense moment, silence reigned.

Then, reacting purely on instinct, Amael pivoted, but it was too late.

Michael’s hand clamped around his throat, lifting him clear off the ground. Michael’s expression was unnervingly calm, yet his eyes burned with a cold fury.

"You dare employ my own techniques against me?" Michael demanded, his eyes narrowing.

Amael’s hands scrabbled desperately at Michael’s arm, trying to break free, his lungs burning for air.

"Still," Michael continued, tilting his head slightly, "I am impressed. You have done this before, replicating patterns, mimicking power in your own unique fashion." His gaze fixed on Amael’s silver eye. "Those bothersome eyes Horus bestowed upon you, your mind records and learns at an accelerated rate. A pity it does not translate into greater strength."

Through the swirling haze, Amael forced a glare, channeling his remaining Wrath. Flecks of purple lightning danced across his skin, only to dissipate harmlessly against the golden aura that now flared around Michael.

"Look at yourself," Michael stated with a slight smile. "You claim to be driven, yet I see no true fire. You lack conviction." His eyes shifted towards Belle, who remained seated beyond the shimmering barrier, her gaze fixed back with a cold intensity, as if she could perceive their entire exchange. "Perhaps I should... provide you with a genuine reason to fight?"

Amael’s eyes narrowed dangerously, his hand tightening its grip on Michael’s arm, veins pulsing with faint purple light.

A sigil flared into existence before him – a sharp pentagon traced in pulsing purple light.

Michael’s expression contorted in alarm. "A Khaos—"

-BOOOM!

The resulting detonation sent Michael hurtling backward, his grip finally broken. Amael crumpled to his knees, coughing uncontrollably, a weary, triumphant grin spreading across his bruised face.

Michael touched his forehead, where a single trickle of blood now ran down. It was a minor injury, but it was proof enough that Amael’s strike had found its mark.

His expression unreadable, Michael reappeared in an instant, moving like a flicker of pure gold. His hand lunged forward, but a pale, cold hand intercepted it mid-air.

"That is sufficient for today, Michael."

Michael turned, his teeth clenched.

Nihil stood beside them.

Michael reluctantly lowered his hand, his golden radiance subsiding. "Your son is not prepared," he stated. "He is weaker than you perceive. For him to become a true Vessel, he must be broken down, then rebuilt. Allow me—"

"I said that is enough," Nihil interjected, his tone lowering.

A heavy silence settled between them. Michael gritted his teeth before vanishing, his form dissolving in a final flare of golden light that faded into the dome’s tranquil air.

Amael slowly raised his eyes to Nihil, his ragged breathing gradually stabilizing. A gentle smile touched his bloodied lips.

"Should I offer my thanks, Father?"

Nihil’s gaze remained cold. "Do you consider yourself clever for provoking Michael?"

Amael scoffed, pushing himself up to a kneeling position. "He initiates the conflict every single time. That insufferably self-righteous bastard simply cannot accept defeat. Samael used to dominate him back in the day, so now he takes his frustrations out on me."

"Enough." Nihil exhaled, the sound carrying more weariness than anger. He reached within his robe and tossed a small crystal vial towards Amael. Amael caught it awkwardly, uncorked it, and drank. The golden liquid flowed warmly down his throat, emitting a faint glow. Within moments, the deep ache in his muscles began to recede.

It was an elixir concocted from the Holy Ground of the Garden, a rare and consecrated substance meant to restore both body and spirit.

"If you are genuinely concerned about your son's well-being," Belle said, entering the dome, "you should be the one guiding him, not allowing Michael to shatter him."

Nihil did not turn. "I have imparted sufficient knowledge," he replied calmly. "What he requires now is perspective. Michael serves that purpose."

Belle let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh as she advanced. "Perspective? You dare call this agony 'perspective'?" She brushed past him indifferently. "My son and I are being obstructed by your presence. Relocate."

Nihil did not engage in further discussion. He yielded, stepping aside to observe her kneel beside Amael. Her hand tenderly caressed his cheek, tracing the faint marks left by their recent conflict.

"You could at the very least confess your lack of concern," she stated. "Or acknowledge that fatherhood was never meant for you."

"I am a Guardian, Belle," Nihil responded softly.

"Indeed, you are," she replied, her eyes meeting his with that familiar, weary coldness. "The Guardian of Eden, that title precedes your role as Amael's father. This truth was known to me long ago." She rose, supporting her son by his arm. "However, I am his mother first, above any duty, Eden, or the vastness of eternity. This grants me a greater claim to his destiny than yours."

As she prepared to depart with Amael, a distinct voice echoed, slicing through the air.

"You have no dominion over the Vessel of Samael Eveningstar."

They turned to find A-Nihil approaching their position.

Belle groaned, raising a hand in exasperation. "Oh, for Ymir's sake, no. We are leaving." She grasped Amael's wrist, initiating their hurried departure.

"You heard my words, Belle," A-Nihil stated, her tone chillingly precise.

Belle paused momentarily, only to cast a backward glance. "Perhaps you should concern yourself with your own offspring, Aniha?" she retorted sharply. "More specifically, your daughter – how fares she within that silent confinement devised by you and your husband? Do not presume to lecture me on the merits of parenting when you have forsaken your own blood. I am certain that poor girl harbors a deep resentment for both of you."

A-Nihil's expression contorted, darkening as she took a step forward. Nihil, however, swiftly positioned himself between the two women.

"Aniha, that is sufficient," he commanded.

She redirected her intense glare towards him. "Always you, defending her," she asserted. "Could you not at least abandon this pretense, Nihil? I am aware our bond was never founded on love, and it is she whom you truly cherish."

"Aniha," Nihil repeated, advancing a step.

But she was already receding, her eyes blazing with fury. "Merely recall our designated roles," she declared before departing.

For a span of several seconds, Nihil remained motionless, enveloped in silence. He then turned his gaze towards the two figures receding into the distance.

"Mother, you possess an undeniable talent for provoking A-Nihil."

"And I savor every moment of it."

"I find immense pleasure in witnessing it as well."

"I love you, sweetheart."

"Love you too, Mother."

Nihil observed both his former wife and his son openly and calmly deriding his current wife within the confines of the Garden of Eden. It was evidently a spectacle not unfamiliar in this locale...

Yet, as his attention remained fixed upon them with a semblance of fondness, a subtle chill permeated the back of his consciousness, an unsettling premonition that he could not dislodge.