The Villain Professor's Second Chance

The moment the last echo of battle faded, Aurelia let out a shaky breath, her eyes locked on the portal, its swirling energy still crackling with remnants of the chaos it held back. She turned to Anastasia, her voice filled with both hope and dread.

"Is it over? Are they…" she hesitated, her voice trailing off.

Anastasia met her gaze, her own eyes shadowed with exhaustion and worry. But she nodded, albeit hesitantly, her lips pressed into a thin line. "We have to check," she said, her voice just loud enough to carry above the faint hum of the portal's energy. It was the answer Aurelia had feared but knew she needed to hear.

Without another word, the two of them stepped forward, disappearing into the portal. The world around them shifted, the familiar landscape of their realm giving way to the surreal expanse of the Plane of Chaos.

The air here was heavy—not just physically, but emotionally. It bore down on them, every breath a reminder that they were somewhere that defied reason and safety. Aurelia felt her skin prickle with unease, the surrounding void nothing but darkness swirling in impossible patterns, fragments of what seemed to be reality and illusion mixed together. Her fiery red hair seemed to dim against the backdrop, the energy draining even the brilliance of her vibrant hue.

The shards of floating rock drifted aimlessly, remnants of something much older and much more terrifying than either of them could fully comprehend. The sight of it brought a weight to Aurelia's heart, and she felt her fingers curl tighter around the hilt of her sword. The very atmosphere whispered of violence, chaos, and raw power—power that had likely been unleashed here only moments ago.

"Draven! Lyan!" Aurelia called, her voice echoing, swallowed almost immediately by the vast emptiness of the plane. There was no response, and her chest tightened. Beside her, Anastasia moved with a similar sense of urgency, her eyes scanning their surroundings, the anxiety etched clearly on her face.

They stepped forward, their pace increasing, both of them desperate to find something—anything—that would tell them the two men were alright. They moved through the desolate landscape, their boots crunching on shards of bone and twisted metal, the remnants of what had once been an army.

"Draven!" Aurelia shouted again, her voice filled with a raw desperation she rarely allowed herself to feel. The silence that followed made her heart ache, her eyes searching for any sign of movement, any glimmer of hope. Enjoy exclusive content from My Virtual Library Empire

Anastasia stopped suddenly, her eyes widening. She pointed, her voice filled with alarm. "Look!"

Aurelia followed her gaze, and her heart sank. The ground ahead of them was littered with corpses—the remains of Draven's undead army, mixed in with the grotesque forms of Tiamat's monstrous spawn. Bones were shattered, limbs twisted at unnatural angles, their lifeless forms scattered across the ground like broken toys discarded by an angry child. The air was thick with the scent of ash and decay, and Aurelia felt her throat tighten, the bile rising as her fears took a deeper hold.

"No, no, no," she muttered, her voice barely audible, her legs moving on instinct, forcing her forward. "They have to be here… They have to be alive."

She broke into a run, her heart pounding, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The destruction around her seemed endless, an ocean of chaos and despair. She felt the tears prick at her eyes, her fingers gripping her sword until her knuckles turned white.

"Draven! Lyan!" Her voice cracked, and the echo that returned sounded hollow, empty.

"Please," she whispered, her eyes scanning the horizon, searching for any sign of them. "Please be fine, you bastard."

Then she saw it—a massive, looming shadow in the distance, the form of something colossal, something ancient. Tiamat. The God of Chaos lay sprawled across the broken ground, her colossal body motionless, her massive wings limp, her eyes closed as if in a deep slumber. Aurelia's breath caught in her throat, her legs nearly giving out beneath her.

"Is she…" Anastasia's voice was barely above a whisper, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Is she dead?"

Aurelia couldn't answer, her eyes fixed on the fallen dragon god. If Tiamat lay defeated, then what had happened to Draven and Lyan? The thought twisted her insides, her fear growing with each passing second. She felt a chill run down her spine, her heart pounding against her ribcage.

"We need to find them," she said, her voice trembling, her legs moving before her mind could catch up. She ran, her eyes fixed on the distant figure—a lone figure amidst the destruction.

It was then that she saw it—a figure standing tall amidst the chaos, golden and regal, a beacon of light against the darkness. Her breath caught in her throat as she recognized him—the man who stood at the center of it all, his blonde hair glowing in the dim, eerie light of the plane. He was clad in golden armor, majestic, and unmistakable.

"Gilgamesh," Aurelia spat, her voice filled with venom.

The King of Heroes. The one who had forced them into this twisted fate, the one who had dragged them into these endless quests, all in the name of royalty. The one who had caused so much suffering, who had played with their lives like they were mere pieces on his grand chessboard.

Rage boiled within her, her blood pounding in her ears. She saw him standing there, his hand extended, his gaze fixed on the ground before him. And there, lying at his feet, were Draven and Lyan, their forms limp, unconscious, surrounded by a golden sphere that seemed to be holding them in some form of stasis.

Aurelia's vision went red, her grip tightening around her sword. Without thinking, she unsheathed it, the blade catching the dim light of the plane, glinting with a fiery glow. Beside her, Anastasia did the same, her own eyes filled with a fury that matched Aurelia's.

"You bastard!" Aurelia shouted, her voice raw with rage. She didn't wait, didn't hesitate. She charged, her sword aimed directly at Gilgamesh, her heart pounding with the need to strike him down, to end the one who had caused them so much pain.

Anastasia followed, her blade glowing with magical energy, her eyes locked on the golden figure before them. The two of them moved as one, their swords aimed at Gilgamesh, their anger driving them forward, giving them strength.

Gilgamesh didn't move. He stood there, his gaze calm, his expression one of mild annoyance, as if their presence was nothing more than a slight inconvenience. As Aurelia's blade came down, he lifted his arm, his golden gauntlet meeting her strike with a resounding clang.

Aurelia gritted her teeth, pushing against him, but he didn't budge. His gaze flicked to her, his eyes cold, dismissive. "Mongrels. You're wasting your time," he said, his voice calm, almost bored.

Anastasia's blade came next, aimed at his side, but he shifted, his gauntlet catching her strike as well, his movements fluid, effortless. He didn't even flinch, his focus barely wavering from the task at hand—healing Draven and Lyan.

Aurelia let out a frustrated growl, her eyes blazing with fury. "Stop acting like we're nothing!" she shouted, her voice filled with rage, her blade coming down again, her strikes faster, more desperate.

But no matter how hard they tried, no matter how fast they moved, they couldn't touch him. Gilgamesh blocked every strike, his golden gauntlet meeting their blades with ease, his movements almost lazy, as if he wasn't even trying.

Aurelia's frustration grew, her teeth gritting, her muscles straining as she tried to break through his defenses. But he was untouchable, his golden armor shimmering, his gaze unwavering, his focus still on Draven and Lyan, the golden sphere around them glowing brighter with each passing second.

"Why won't you fight us?!" Anastasia shouted, her voice filled with a mix of anger and desperation. "You're the one who put us through this—the one who forced us into these endless loops. You owe us a fight!"

Gilgamesh let out a sigh, his gaze flicking to Anastasia, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You misunderstand," he said, his voice calm, measured. "I am not your enemy here."

Aurelia let out a snarl, her blade coming down once more, only for Gilgamesh to catch it, his grip like iron, his eyes meeting hers. "Enough," he said, his voice carrying an edge of authority that made Aurelia's heart skip a beat.

And then, with a swift movement, he grabbed her arm, pulling her forward, and before she could react, he tossed her aside, her body hitting the ground with a thud. Anastasia was next, her strike blocked, her arm caught, and she too was thrown, her body landing beside Aurelia's.

Before they could recover, before they could rise to their feet, a mist began to gather, swirling around them—dark, cold, filled with malice. Tiamat's last desperate attempt. The mist rushed toward them, intent on consuming them, on finishing what she had started.

But Gilgamesh was faster. He raised his hand, a tablet of grimoire appearing before him, its pages glowing with a golden light. Above him, a massive portal opened, shimmering with an ethereal glow, and from it, an enormous golden hand descended. It moved with purpose, its fist clenching as it came down, striking the mist, halting it in its tracks, the impact shaking the ground beneath them.

The mist dissipated, the dark energy fading, the air growing still once more. Gilgamesh lowered his hand, his gaze still fixed on Tiamat, his expression unreadable.

Tiamat let out a deep, guttural growl, her eyes narrowing, her massive form still sprawled across the ground. Her voice was filled with hatred, her words a hiss that carried through the Plane of Chaos. "You… The first hero of humans… You blasphemous demigod…"

Gilgamesh's gaze remained steady, his deep reddish-golden eyes looking down on Tiamat without an ounce of fear. He spoke, his voice calm and authoritative, each word carrying a weight that seemed to echo through the void.

"Oh, dear Mother of Chaos, Tiamat," he began, his tone almost reverent, though edged with something colder. "The one who birthed even the most primordial of beings, the force that shaped both creation and calamity, the one who stood between love and wrath for all that you've given life to. How far you've fallen… You, who once embodied the endless expanse of creation, who cradled even the gods within your chaotic embrace, now lie shattered in defeat."

"I see the end of this era reflected in your eyes, the once limitless power reduced to this fragile, fleeting moment. You seem to be the final remnant of an age that time has cast aside—a relic of a past where the gods held dominion and wonder filled the heavens. I, too, have seen that era, have walked the path between divinity and man, and yet here we are, witnessing its last breath."

"You fought against your children, and you fought for them. You loved them and despised them, a paradox that mortals and gods alike could never understand. But perhaps I, King of Heroes, the bridge between all that was and all that is, can glimpse the sorrow in your eyes."

"A goddess who was betrayed, who watched her progeny turn on her, now lying in a state of utter disarray—a sight that does not bring me pleasure. This is not a scene that even the King of Heroes revels in. Perhaps in another time, another world, we could have shared a banquet, basked in the glory of all creation… Perhaps I could have seen you as an ally, a kindred force of existence."

"But alas, there is no escaping the turning wheel of fate. Your end, Mother Tiamat, is not one written by cruelty, but by inevitability—a chapter closed, a truth in the script of eternity. Now, rest, Mother of All. Return to the primordial void from which you once rose. Let the curtain fall gracefully, for there is dignity even in the final moments of gods. The age of chaos ends with you, but your name shall be whispered through eternity, as a part of everything that ever was and will be."

"Farewell, Mother. The King of Heroes bids you peace, even as you fade into oblivion.""

He raised his hand, and above him, a massive golden spear appeared, shimmering with divine power, its presence commanding, absolute. He looked at Tiamat, his eyes filled with a quiet finality.

"Rest in peace, Mother of Chaos," he said, his voice calm, almost gentle.

With a single wave of his hand, the spear descended, its light engulfing Tiamat's form, the power of the strike overwhelming, final. The massive body of the dragon god was swallowed by the golden light, the energy dissipating, leaving behind nothing but silence, an end to the chaos.

And in that silence, Gilgamesh lowered his gaze, his eyes closing for a brief moment, a sigh escaping his lips.

"It is done," he whispered.