I Am The Game's Villain

”But some of the Gods went further. Much further. They created Vessels—living, breathing bodies meant to be claimed whenever the Gods saw fit. This wasn’t just passing down a bloodline or leaving a spark of divine magic behind. No... this was something deeper, something dangerously close to breaking the rules. And yet, Eden approved.”

”He had been building his army—mortals, humans, and other races alike—for millennia. He nurtured them, prepared them, only for the Evil Gods to start corrupting and manipulating his work. Do you think Eden would simply stand by? No. He gave his blessing for the creation of these Vessels—Gods’ own anchors in the mortal realm—to live here, protect it from the Evil Gods, and subtly shape its course.”

Cain finished and smirked.

”I imagine that story sounds familiar to you, Rucain?”

Rucain’s expression hardened, his gaze turning cold. ”Who... are you exactly?”

”You still don’t get it?” Cain’s tone was almost pitying. ”I am you. I had been created for this very moment. And now... the time has come.”

His hands clenched into fists.

In the next instant, a dark crimson aura erupted from him, shattering the shackles that bound him with a sharp, metallic snap. The air grew heavy, the pressure suffocating. The crimson energy swirled violently around him, forcing Rucain to take a step back.

But then—Cain’s body began to fracture. Thin, jagged cracks snaked across his skin, and from them, darkened veins burst one after another, spilling streams of blood.

Rucain’s eyes widened.

Cain didn’t scream.

He didn’t falter. He simply... burst.

His entire body exploded into a storm of blood, the torrent twisting in midair before surging straight into Rucain’s open mouth.

”...!”

The moment it entered him, Rucain dropped to his knees. His hands clawed at the ground as his face contorted in raw agony. A slow, spiraling crimson vortex began to form around him, pulsing like a heartbeat.

And then—he saw it.

Visions crashed into his mind like a flood breaking a dam.

Memories.

A lost past.

He saw a silver-haired man standing before him—before another him—who knelt, beaten but still alive. The silver-haired figure was bloodied, his breath ragged, yet he remained standing while Rucain’s other self lay dying.

At the man’s side stood two women—one with dark blue hair and another with platinum blond hair.

Dying... yet not dead.

Because this version of him—this Vessel—belonged to an Evil God. And such a thing could not die so easily.

No... not yet.

He still had work to finish. The Vampire Witch had been killed, yes—but he needed her. He needed Merithra’s pure blood.

That had always been his purpose.

His reason for existing.

From the very moment of his creation, everything had led to this—his life, his struggles, his survival—every step nothing more than a thread in the grand design of his God. And when the final moment of that life came... his God appeared.

The God plucked him from death and cast his soul forward into a far-off future, sealing him into a new Vessel.

Thus, he was reborn as Cain Redgrave.

When his memories finally returned, when the truth of his existence bloomed in his mind, he understood exactly what needed to be done. There would be no hesitation this time. No failure.

This time, he would kill Mael.

This time, he would claim Merithra’s essence for himself.

With Amaya and Alicia, the pieces could fall perfectly into place. But above all, Mael had to die—because that command was not just his own hatred. It was a command etched into his very soul by the will of his God.

It was the will of an Evil God.

Kill the Vessel of Samael Eveningstar.

The urge burned hotter than any vengeance. It consumed him. Mael had destroyed his ambitions once in a forgotten past—but that was almost irrelevant now. The God’s desire eclipsed his own.

He had to kill him.

”Ah... ah...” Rucain’s breath rasped out, shallow and ragged. Blood mingled with saliva as it dripped from his lips, streaking down his chin. His body trembled, but his mind... his mind was clear.

He remembered everything.

A sharp, searing pain cut across his forehead as a crimson X burned itself into his flesh, glowing faintly like molten metal. His eyes shifted, strange and unnatural symbols blooming within their depths.

”As you wish... Lord Anox,” he whispered hoarsely.

He bowed his head, not in defeat, but in worship—offering himself wholly to the God who had given his life meaning.

Yet this was not A-Nox herself.

No...