Reincarnated as the Villainess’s Unlucky Bodyguard

The skies had long forgotten their gentler hues, eclipsed by a dense canopy of soot-black smoke threaded with ribbons of malevolent crimson. Below, flames roared triumphantly, swallowing the remains of Elmire with a voracious hunger, tearing through the village as if to punish the very earth beneath. It was as if the land itself wept, drowned beneath layers of molten rage.

I stood on a ridge overlooking the ruins, my dual-colored hair whipping furiously in the howling winds conjured by the sheer destruction before me. One eye amber, one vivid green, both now dulled and subdued by a cruel enchantment woven tight around my will—a leash of shadow tethering me irrevocably to the whims of the woman standing at the epicenter of chaos.

Azael.

She moved through devastation as if born of it, her crimson skin gleaming like polished rubies under the unnatural illumination of the fire. Her horns curled majestically upward, adorned in shades as dark and uncompromising as her intent, while her hair flowed like liquid fire—streams of molten copper and gold swirling in defiance of gravity, an embodiment of beautiful devastation.

"Pathetic." Azael's voice sliced through the smoke, razor-sharp and utterly unmerciful. "I expected more than fleeting resistance. How disappointing."

Elmire's remaining defenders had rallied around a crumbling statue at the heart of the square—some figure of forgotten valor now reduced to a mocking symbol of futility. Armed men and women, faces coated with soot and sweat, formed a wavering line, desperation painted starkly in their widened eyes and trembling blades.

I felt a brief flicker of pity pierce through the enchantment controlling me—a stubborn echo of the person I once was. Liria Silverthorn, guardian and protector, now reduced to a puppet forged of cruelty and betrayal.

But pity vanished quickly, smothered beneath the wave of ruthless dominance radiating from Azael. Her influence was intoxicating, her very presence eroding any trace of remorse until nothing remained but cold, merciless resolve.

"Observe carefully, my dear Liria," she murmured, eyes glinting golden with an unholy anticipation. "This is how you quell rebellion."

She raised one elegant hand, fingers spread wide as though caressing the currents of the destruction around her. Power surged forth, shimmering darkly with veins of liquid gold, swirling in torrents before condensing into sharpened spears of obsidian flame.

They hung suspended for one agonizing heartbeat, suspended above those brave souls who still dared defy inevitability. Then, with an imperious flick of her wrist, Azael brought her judgment crashing down.

The screams rang out sharply—brief, high, and raw. The obsidian spears tore through armor, flesh, and bone without hesitation, impaling warriors and innocents alike. The statue shattered beneath the assault, shards scattering like frozen raindrops in all directions.

In mere seconds, the village center was reduced to silence punctuated only by the crackle of flames and the faint echoes of distant screams. Azael lowered her hand slowly, satisfaction evident in the languid curve of her dark lips.

"This is dominance, absolute and unquestioned," she whispered softly, more to herself than to me. "Remember it well, my dear."

A chilling wind tore at my hair, sending shivers cascading down my spine. The enchantment pulsed, resonating with Azael's power, reinforcing my obedience. Deep inside, I felt the faint stirrings of rebellion, a muted cry smothered beneath layers of oppressive enchantment. My mind was trapped, fully conscious yet powerless to resist, forced to witness every atrocity, every ruthless act of annihilation.

"My queen," murmured a trembling voice from the shadows. A soldier emerged, head bowed deeply to avoid the searing intensity of her golden gaze. "The northern battalion has surrendered. They've thrown down their arms."

"Surrender?" She tilted her head, intrigued. "Have they not witnessed what awaits them?"

"They beg mercy, your majesty," he stammered, visibly shaken. "Mercy for their children."

Azael's lips curved, an expression more cruel than kind. "Bring their leader here."

He obeyed without hesitation, and within moments, a weary figure stumbled before us, his proud shoulders sagging beneath the unbearable weight of defeat. Blood and ash streaked his face, marring proud features lined with grief and shame.

"Mercy," he gasped hoarsely, falling to his knees. "Not for myself, but for the innocents. For those who cannot fight."

Azael tilted her head slowly, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Innocents?" she murmured, her tone deceptively gentle. "I know no such beings."

With a cruel twist of her hand, she summoned tendrils of fire and shadow that coiled around his neck, lifting him from the ground with effortless strength. His boots dangled helplessly inches above the scorched earth, eyes widening in desperation.

"Please—"

She snapped her fingers dismissively. The tendrils contracted mercilessly, a sharp crack echoing through the air as his neck broke instantly. His limp form fell unceremoniously at her feet, devoid of life.

"No mercy for traitors," she declared coldly, stepping carelessly over his corpse. "Burn their village entirely. Leave nothing behind but ashes."

Her soldiers surged forward, obediently executing her command, their torches casting eerie shadows against the flames. Watching them move, robotic and unfeeling, I recognized my own reflection in their vacant eyes—the painful truth of what I'd become.

We marched onward, carving a merciless path through the countryside. With every village and settlement consumed in our relentless advance, Azael's grip on my will tightened further, forcing my compliance even as my soul screamed in silent anguish.

And with each step closer to Enara's kingdom, the weight of my betrayal grew heavier, crushing the fragments of my former self beneath waves of guilt and horror.

Enara. Daena.

Their names were etched upon the wreckage of my heart, a constant, agonizing reminder of the bonds I had severed. I'd been their protector, friend, and beloved child, and now—now I had become their destroyer.

Azael sensed my turmoil, my hidden agony. Her fingers brushed lightly against my cheek, burning like molten fire yet chillingly cold. "Do not mourn them, little one," she whispered, her voice a sinister lullaby. "Weakness is a chain. To become truly free, you must embrace the darkness."

Her words pierced deeply, twisting like a knife. I shuddered involuntarily, but the enchantment left me no choice but to bow my head in submissive acknowledgment. A small, sinister smile of triumph flickered briefly across her lips.

Ahead, the silhouettes of yet another village loomed ominously against the smoke-heavy horizon. We advanced relentlessly, a black tide of destruction sweeping forward to claim all before us.

Azael strode at the vanguard, unstoppable and majestic, a goddess of devastation. Her laughter echoed freely as she raised her hands skyward, conjuring storms of fire and shadow, each step bringing fresh annihilation, each gesture amplifying her unrivaled power.

Her very presence seemed to warp reality around her, bending elements to her whim, molding them into instruments of pure ruin. The earth quaked in reverence, winds shrieked in homage, flames danced joyously at her feet. Reality itself bowed beneath the weight of her malevolence.

I watched silently, helplessly enthralled, my eyes reflecting the endless cycle of destruction, death, and despair. Villagers fell before her, screaming, pleading but their cries were swept away by the storm she unleashed, their pleas erased as if they had never existed at all.

And as darkness consumed everything in her path, a bitter truth crystallized within me, a truth as unyielding and merciless as the flames themselves.

This was no longer just war, conquest, or vengeance. This was annihilation complete, merciless, and absolute. And as much as I despised it, feared it, resented it, I could do nothing but follow in her wake, my soul trapped in a nightmare from which I feared I would never awaken.

Elmire's ruins burned behind us, a stark beacon heralding the inevitable advance toward Enara's kingdom. With each footstep echoing the cries of the fallen, Azael's laughter resounded victoriously into the void of night.

And I, her silent, unwilling disciple, marched obediently at her side, imprisoned by darkness, complicit in destruction my very existence a symphony conducted solely by her cruel hand.

The horizon bled into darkness, shrouded in smoke and sorrow, as we approached the final remnants of Elmire's outskirts. Twisted, smoldering shapes loomed like ghastly sentinels, the skeletal remains of homes and livelihoods reduced to ash-streaked husks. My heart clenched painfully, memories of brighter days flickering like embers in the cold wind, extinguished as swiftly as they surfaced.

Azael glanced toward me, eyes glittering knowingly. She knew the torment roiling beneath my enforced obedience; she reveled in it, savoring my internal agony like sweet nectar.

"Do you see, Liria?" she whispered, the silkiness of her voice masking its venomous edge. "This is your true potential, the freedom you've always craved, shackled no longer by sentiment or weak bonds."

I wanted to scream, to defy her, to resist but the enchantment tightened around my throat, choking every rebellious thought into submission. My body trembled slightly, betraying my internal struggle, yet remaining utterly loyal to her will.

She smiled softly, satisfaction glittering like golden poison in her eyes. "Soon, you shall stand beside me willingly. You shall see the beauty in ruin."