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Play the Villain - Chapter 292 - Vol. 2 - Chapter 119: Free-Range Mode
🕑 Added 2025-10-26 00:12:47 +0000 UTCA slender black shadow darted along the rugged paths of Mount Caucasus, swift as lightning.
“Those who trespass into the forbidden domain—death awaits!”
Halfway up the mountainside, glowing runes flared to life. Amid the deep rumble and angry roar that followed, black stone surged upward.
Dozens of Earth Guardians crawled from the fissures of the mountain, their crimson eyes blazing like flickering flames. Stone blades swung from their hands, slashing in a dense, overlapping flurry.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
But the slender black shadow coiled and sprang upward, twisting through the air with impossible agility. With a sharp, whistling cry, it tore through the sky and reappeared behind the Earth Guardians in an instant.
When the intruder landed, its form became clear—a three-foot-long ancient serpent, its scales dark and without luster.
The ancient serpent paused briefly, glancing at the still, motionless Earth Guardians behind it. Its eyes narrowed.
Olympus actually set up these things along the path? How troublesome.
Even with the protection of the Fate God's essence, I’ll need to hurry.
The dark figure gathered its focus, slipping swiftly up toward the mountain’s peak.
Moments after it departed, a chorus of sharp cracks echoed through the air.
Crack. Crack.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
The Earth Guardians still standing in place were soon covered in spiderweb-like fissures. One by one, they shattered apart, collapsing into heaps of scattered rock.
At the very instant the serpent had passed earlier, the core Magic Crystals in their chests had all been pierced through with fist-sized holes—their destruction had only been a matter of time.
High above, the peaks of Caucasus loomed beneath fierce mountain winds and a vast, open sky.
“Screech!”
The ancient serpent had just scaled a jutting rock and was about to move toward the chain-bound cliffs when a sudden gale swept across the air. A shrill cry split the silence as a pair of iron-hook talons dove straight for the serpent’s crown.
Thud!
But in that critical moment, the serpent’s tail whipped upward with deadly precision, striking the falcon square on the head and slamming it into a nearby rock. Dust burst skyward in a cloud.
“Trying to die, are you? You don’t even recognize me anymore?”
Amid swirling red and black veins of energy, the serpent’s body shifted, transforming into the handsome figure of a man with snake-like eyes and black hair. Samael turned toward the staggering Caucasian eagle that had just crawled from the rubble, brows drawn tight as he let out a cold snort.
“Chirp... chirp...”
The once-proud falcon, hearing that familiar voice it hadn’t encountered in years, trembled uncontrollably. Its wings folded tight, its head drooped low, and it stared at the ground like a scolded barnyard bird.
“Keep watch on the surroundings. If Olympus makes the slightest move, report to me immediately.”
Seeing the bird still as timid as ever, Samael’s expression eased slightly. He tossed down a chunk of half-cooked, blood-stained beef and spoke in a low voice.
The Caucasian eagle, upon hearing this, eagerly snatched up the long-missed delicacy and took to the air with frantic wingbeats.
Even without the offering, it wanted to get as far away from this plague of a being as possible.
After all, during its long years in the Caucasus, whenever Zeus came to “converse” with that piece of meat chained up to dry, it was always ordered to stay away.
And not just Zeus—Hera, the Queen of Heaven; Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty; and Demeter, the goddess of the harvest, had all come to this mountain seeking the aid of the bound prophet.
But secrets... too many secrets will kill even a bird.
...
At that moment, atop Mount Caucasus, a Titan stirred. His rough skin and wild beard bristled like weeds as his eyes slowly opened, sharp and gleaming with awareness.
“Why did you come? This is reckless!”
Samael stepped up to Prometheus, his expression grave.
“I know,” the prophet replied, “but I had no choice.”
At those words, the Seer’s face hardened as he listened intently. For Samael to come here in person meant the matter had to be of grave importance.
The ancient serpent then released the divine power of fate, weaving it around them both before explaining his purpose in full.
At their last meeting in the Peloponnese, they had already sensed the coming storm and had swiftly relocated the couple, Epimetheus and his wife.
After that, Samael led a number of humanity’s guides, keeping them hidden and alert, ready for the arrival of Pandora—the daughter of calamity—and her fateful box.
Yet years passed, and he saw neither Pandora nor the supposed box.
The gods had grown increasingly kind toward humanity, while humans had grown ever more reverent, building temples across the land.
Crete and Mycenae, the two cradles of Greek civilization, were flourishing.
Thebes, Athens, Sparta, and other famed future city-states were beginning to take form—small human settlements were sprouting, and the concept of the polis was slowly emerging.
In the name of Themis, the “Athenian Academy,” a society dedicated to learning and exchange, was also progressing steadily. From the remaining Twelve Titans and the Twelve Olympians to curious nymphs and divine spirits, all had interacted with them in some way.
Humanity spread across the earth like a fast-moving virus—tilling fields, building cities, exploring the seas.
Everything was proceeding far too smoothly.
And yet, the longer it went on, the more the unease in Samael’s heart grew. His divine sense of fate kept warning him that an unseen calamity was silently taking shape.
Years of investigation—both open and covert—had yielded nothing.
Eventually, he came to a troubling realization: while he had obscured the vision of Greece’s future, the very weave of Greek destiny itself seemed to reject his intrusion, resisting the insight of an outsider.
As the warnings in his mind grew louder, Samael was left with no choice but to take a risk. He ascended Mount Caucasus to seek the counsel of Prometheus, the prophet recognized by Fate itself.
In truth, Zeus’s watch over Prometheus was relentless—each meeting with him carried immense danger.
If not for the deep, gnawing sense of unease that had begun to unsettle even Themis, Samael might have preferred to continue this fragile peace between gods and mortals.
But Prometheus only offered him a weary smile.
“You,” he said, “are a defier of Fate, while Themis is an ancient Titan destined to give birth to the Moirai and the goddesses of Time.
If even the two of you cannot perceive it, what answer could I possibly have?”
Samael’s heart sank, a dull ache pounding at his temples.
“Everything was under control,” he muttered. “How did it all turn out like this?”
“Because in this age,” Prometheus replied, his brows furrowed, “Zeus is the one favored by destiny.”
His tone was heavy, and after a pause, he sighed in resignation.
“We acted too hastily, trying to alter too much of the predetermined future. It provoked fate’s backlash. Humanity’s true age hasn’t truly begun yet.”
Samael frowned in thought, slowly nodding in agreement with the prophet’s words.
Indeed, to defy the heavens and bring an early end to the Age of Gods was never meant to be easy.
“Besides all this,” Prometheus asked after a brief silence, “have you noticed any other irregularities?”
“Irregularities?”
Samael’s face grew darker at the question.
“There are indeed...”
