I Am The Game's Villain

When I opened my eyes, I was greeted by a void of darkness.

"Ugh…" I groaned, clutching my throbbing head before I pushed myself upright. My gaze darted around, only to find nothing but an endless blackness. Then, out of the corner of my vision, a small ball of white light flickered into existence, hovering close.

"Where the hell am I?"

I stood up, hesitant, and reached out a finger to prod the strange orb. The light recoiled slightly, as if acknowledging my presence, before weaving through the air around me. It circled me once, then drifted forward with a clear intent: to guide me.

With no other options, I decided to follow.

The last thing I remembered was the bitter struggle with Navas—his death, Celes supporting my battered body as I limped away, and then… collapse. Darkness swallowed me after that. Was this a dream? It had to be, right?

But no dream I'd ever had was this vivid. I clenched my fists. The roughness of my palms, the ache in my body—everything felt too real.

The glowing orb led me forward through the void, until finally, we arrived at a grand white door that seemed to float amidst the nothingness. The orb didn't wait; it passed through the door and vanished. I hesitated, staring at the smooth, radiant surface.

Taking a deep breath, I reached out. My fingers trembled slightly as they brushed the door, and with a gentle push, I opened it.

Blinding light flooded my vision. I instinctively raised an arm to shield my eyes, squinting against the sudden brilliance. As the light dimmed, the world around me came into focus—vast and serene.

"Welcome, finally."

The voice startled me. Lowering my arm, I blinked in disbelief. Standing before me was a man—a handsome figure with white hair that shimmered faintly and piercing amber eyes.

I saw myself.

He was dressed in immaculate white noble attire, the kind I would never wear. Too stiff, too formal—it didn't suit me. And that smile? Way too composed, and noble-looking far from the normal smile I'd usually muster.

"What the hell is going on?" I muttered, dumbfounded.

Was this some sort of bizarre dream?

"No," the man replied, reading my thoughts.

I frowned, suspicion crawling up my spine as he laughed, his demeanor annoyingly carefree.

"I am Amael Idea Olphean," he said, tilting his head slightly. "Nice to meet you. Hmm… how should I address you?"

"I'm Amael though…" I replied confused.

"Not quite," he said with a light shake of his head. With a flick of his fingers, a white table and chairs materialized. "Have a seat."

Despite my unease, I silently obeyed, lowering myself into one of the chairs. The other Amael—or whoever he was—settled into the seat across from me.

"..."

He stared at me for a moment, his amber eyes scanning my face with an intensity that made me awkward.

"What?" I asked.

"My apologies," he said with a light chuckle. "It's just… strange, staring at my own face like this."

"I can agree with that," I replied.

Amael leaned back slightly, his gaze thoughtful. "By the way, I saw your fight against Navas. I have to say, I'm impressed."

I frowned. Compliments from a strange, dreamlike version of myself felt oddly weird. "Who are you?" I asked again.

I couldn't start any kind of discussion without understanding who—or what—he was. I needed answers.

Amael smiled faintly, tapping his finger rhythmically on the white table between us. "I think you already know."

I stared at him for a moment. The longer I observed him, the clearer the answer became, though it was one I didn't want to admit.

"You're Amael Idea Olphean… without the memories of Nyrel Loyster," I said finally. Continue reading at My Virtual Library Empire

"Exactly." Amael nodded.

That explained it. He looked like me, yet he wasn't me. His posture, his movements—they all carried an air of grace, as though he were performing some class of noble etiquette. While I'd known the same lessons, I'd always shrugged them off, dismissing them as unnecessary. But this Amael followed them flawlessly, down to the smallest gesture.

Even his voice had the cadence of someone who'd been groomed to lead. He wasn't just noble; he was princely. It was a contrast to the person I knew myself to be. Watching him felt like staring at a reflection of what might have been, had things turned out differently.

If he wasn't brainwashed by who the hell it was after Oryanna Olphean's death.

In a way, he reminded me of Christina and Mother. More than me, really. Yeah, much more than me.

"What's going on, then?" I asked, forcing my focus back to the situation at hand. "You said this isn't a dream."

"It's not," Amael replied, folding his hands in front of him. "Think of it more as… the deepest part of your unconsciousness."

"My unconsciousness?" I repeated the concept making little sense to me.

Amael laughed softly. "I'll admit, even I'm not entirely sure how to explain this place. Let's just say it's where my memories and Nyrel Loyster's memories are gathered."

I blinked, mulling over his words. "That makes more sense, actually," I said, nodding slowly. "Alright then—how did I end up here?"

"I called you here," he said, leaning forward slightly. "You're currently in a deep sleep, recovering. While your body heals, I thought we should talk."

"Talk about what?"

Amael gave me a small, almost hesitant smile. "Well, it's been a while since we've talked, and I just wanted to speak with you... You've protected and supported my elder sister all this time, and my mother as well. And now, you're doing so much again to save my mother."

"They're also my mother and sister," I replied. "That's a given."

Amael's smile grew faintly, his eyes carrying a trace of skepticism. "Do you really think that?"

"What?" I frowned a little.

"You aren't Amael Idea Olphean. You aren't me," he said calmly, meeting my gaze as if waiting for me to deny it. "Can you agree on that point?"

I blinked, taken aback by the bluntness of his statement.

After a moment, I sighed and nodded.

"Yeah. I'm not the original Amael Idea Olphean, if that's what you're asking," I admitted. "But I still have your memories. They're my family—"

"That's wrong."

Amael shook his head.

"What's wrong?" I asked, a bit annoyed.

"I am the memories," he said. "I am Amael Idea Olphean. It's thanks to my memories that you even know about my past, my family, and every emotion you claim as yours."

"That's bullshit." I glared at him.

Was this some kind of twisted joke?

"However difficult it is to accept, that's the truth," Amael continued with a casual shrug.

"Then who am I supposed to be?" I asked with a laugh.

"You..." Amael began thinking carefully. "You might be the one borrowing my memories, as well as those of Nyrel Loyster." He nodded to himself as though affirming the thought.

There was something strange about the way he said it.

"Then it doesn't change the fact that I'm also you, does it?" I asked.

Amael shook his head slowly, a small smile forming on his lips. "As I said, our memories didn't exactly merge. You really believe everything Nihil feeds you, don't you?" He chuckled.

When I glare burned stronger, he raised his hands in surrender.

I don't like this guy…

I leaned forward slightly, narrowing my eyes. "What do you mean the memories haven't merged? And why would Nihil make me believe they had?" My mind drifted back to the Miranda Quest in the dungeon, the challenge I had fulfilled to claim Amael's memories.

Amael leaned back, crossing his arms. "That's not for me to answer."

"Who, then? Nihil? The only trace of his presence was destroyed. I killed it myself."

"Yes, I saw that moment," Amael said, shaking his head. "It was quite the scary spectacle—especially with Nemes." He laughed.

"Answer me," I asked annoyed.

Amael tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Instead of replying directly, he threw another question at me. "Do you think Nihil is your ally?"

I groaned, running a hand through my hair. "No way in hell."

I was already fed up with all his manipulation but now I am learning that he also tricked me to believe my memories were merged ones. What did that twisted guy really want from me?

"Good," Amael nodded appreciatively. "He's a Guardian of Eden. His sole purpose is to keep Eden alive, no matter the cost. It's for the world's sake, they would say."

I clenched my fists. "And what the hell does that have to do with me? Samael? I already told him—I have no intention of gathering the Sins or letting them control me. It's my life."

"My body, though," Amael shot back, raising a brow.

I glared at him again.

He shrugged nonchalantly before letting out a long sigh. "Nihil is afraid of you becoming Samael Eveningstar. That would be disastrous for Eden. And for what it's worth, I don't want to become that monster either. But..."

"But?"

Amael furrowed his brows. "But Nihil is afraid of something else. Something that has nothing to do with the Sins or Samael."

"And what's that?" I asked, my heart pounding. "Are you talking about me—Nyrel Loyster?"

He was afraid of Nyrel Loyster but the main reason wasn't even because of me possessing the Sin of Wrath and had nothing to do with Samael?

Then what was it?

Amael nodded, only to shake his head immediately after. "Unfortunately, I don't know."

"Damn him…" I cursed under my breath.

"Alright. Enough about Nihil. Let's change the subject," Amael clapped his hands. "Let's talk about something else. Like your lovers. I never thought you'd manage to make Layla fall for you," he said, a hint of genuine surprise in his tone. "She always seemed so infatuated with Alfred."

"She thought she was," I replied, shrugging. "She's smart, sure, but deep down, she's just a girl waiting for her Prince to save her. And Alfred fit the bill perfectly—a prince, a man she was supposed to marry. Her parents drilled that into her head. She was conditioned, that's all."

Amael let out a low whistle, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "Well, I'll give you credit. I don't think I could've pulled it off."

"Right," I said dryly. "We—you—loved her since you were a kid."

"You bet," Amael admitted, his smirk turning wistful. "I was so drawn to her. I'd never felt that kind of pull... well, there was also a bit Celes as well. Euphemia a little too but Layla was several steps ahead."

"Celes?" I repeated.

"Yeah," Amael said, grinning. "You know who I'm talking about. My childhood friend. I always loved Celes as a kid. She was the one who stood up for me, helped me deal with bullies like Evan or Rodolf."

He glanced at my face, noticing the way my expression twisted with conflicted emotions.

Of course I felt that way.

He wasn't just drawing lines between us being different people—he was carving them into stone. And now, he was saying he loved Celes even though he should know what I felt about her.

"I'm quite jealous, you know," Amael said, sighing. "I'm sure she liked me a lot too. If only I had—"

"Stop." I stopped him before he could finish.

I didn't want to hear any more.

Amael stared at me for a moment, his expression unreadable, before shrugging with a faint smile.

"My apologies. It's just... I feel a bit sad about my situation. But without your—Nyrel's—memories, I don't think I would have lasted long mentally. So, I'm grateful, nonetheless." His smile turned bitter, his eyes clouded with something like resignation. "Just... save my mother."

"..."

I didn't feel comfortable with this conversation—not one bit. Still, I nodded, even if the gesture felt hollow.

"Good!" Amael exclaimed, his mood shifting abruptly as he sighed in relief. "That's all I wanted to hear."

It surprised me how much faith he seemed to have in me, in my abilities. Then again, he was technically inside me, living through my every thought and action.

"Can I leave now?" I asked, standing up, eager to escape this place.

"Wait," Amael stopped me unfortunately. He turned toward the empty chair next to us, the one I'd assumed was just there for show. "Before you go, there's someone you should meet. Why are you hiding?"

At first, nothing happened, and I started to question whether Amael was just messing with me. But then, dark particles began to coalesce in the chair, swirling like ink dissolving in water. Slowly, a figure took shape, legs crossed casually over the white table.

The man who appeared was dressed entirely in black—a crisp jacket, tailored pants, and a white shirt that looked almost too perfect. It was the kind of attire Nyrel Loyster had been used to wearing after Ephera taught him how to dress properly.

And then it hit me.

It was him.

Obviously if Amael was there.

Nyrel Loyster was there as well.