Reincarnated as the Villainess's Unlucky Bodyguard-Chapter 218: This Is Definitely Not a Phase, It’s Possession

There were a thousand things I missed about having a functioning body.

Walking, for instance. Or breathing without feeling like the air was borrowed. Or scratching my nose, which, by the way, had been itchy for two hours now and was starting to feel like a personal attack from the universe.

But the worst part?

Having to listen to Azael monologue while I lay on the cold, cursed floor like an undercooked pancake.

She was pacing now back and forth, back and forth heels clicking on the obsidian stone like the ticking of some infernal clock. I couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't even roll my eyes, which I had never appreciated enough when I could.

"You see, Liria," she said, her voice calm in the same way venom dripped from fangs slow, patient, fatal, "heroes are tragically predictable. All that light and hope and self-righteous belief that everyone can be saved. It's almost charming. Almost."

Her cloak flared behind her as she spun, the motion unnecessarily dramatic. If I could have sighed, I would have.

Yes, Azael, do go on about how you're so much better than everyone. Again.

"Of course, the real advantage," she continued, oblivious to the scathing commentary in my mind, "is that they always make the same mistake."

She stopped pacing.

Turned.

Faced me directly.

"They assume love makes someone weak."

Her gaze was sharp enough to cut through steel. "They never ask what happens when love festers. When it rots in silence. When it becomes a weapon instead of a tether."

Oh, I thought flatly, we're having a "villain backstory reveal" day. Fabulous.

[To be fair,] the system muttered inside my head, [hers is objectively terrifying.]

Shut up.

I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of having my pity, even internally. I didn't care if her heart had been shattered in some demonic prom from hell. She didn't get to stand over me and spin poetry about twisted love while actively preparing to burn down the girl I'd sold my soul trying to protect.

I would not relate to her.

Not even a little.

Even if that last line had stung.

"You're silent today," Azael said, crouching beside me, tilting her head like a cat inspecting a dying bird. "Good. That means the pain is working."

[You know,] the system said in a bored voice, [statistically speaking, there's a ninety-five percent chance she's just projecting. Might want to remind her that you're not the one monologuing to a half-conscious teenager.]

Tempting, I muttered. Very tempting.

But I couldn't.

Not yet.

She stood again and turned away, muttering to herself in a tone too low for me to catch. Something about strategic placement of nightmare hounds, flame siege rituals, and "turning the hero's bones into art," which, frankly, sounded like the kind of Pinterest board I didn't want to see.

I should've been afraid.

But all I felt was exhaustion and the slow, burning ache of something else.

A hunger.

Not for food.

Not even for freedom.

But for control.

For me.

[We're close,] the system said quietly, as if it had sensed the change. [Keep focusing on the threads. You've unraveled nearly half. That's enough for a… moment.]

A moment?

[Maybe two, if I stall the alarms.]

The knowledge hit me like a sudden breath of cold air.

Two seconds , two seconds to move , to act , to be myself It wasn't enough , but it had to be.

Carefully, I slid back into the quiet place inside me, the one where Azael's magic had wormed its way into the roots of my being. I could feel the edges of it, slick and barbed, holding everything hostage like a thousand invisible needles. But beneath it buried deep was my magic. Warmer, wild, unpolished and stubborn.

Mine.

I reached for it.

Not with desperation, but with purpose.

There was no fear left in me. Only fire. Only the shape of a scream I couldn't voice.

[Now.]

The system's voice cracked like lightning.

I moved.

For the first time in weeks, my fingers curled into the stone floor, nails scraping as sensation poured back in white-hot and blinding.

One breath a gasp dragged from my throat like it was stolen from the void. The air was sour, heavy with magic and ash, but it was mine.

Two seconds.

I sat up.

The movement was shaky, clumsy, my muscles stiff and screaming but I did it. My head lifted, and for the briefest instant, my eyes found Azael's back, still turned, still unaware.

And I smiled because in that moment, I wasn't broken , I wasn't hers , I was Liria.

Then everything snapped back.

The enchantment recoiled like a whip, yanking control away in a burst of brutal, freezing pain. My body collapsed again, my limbs seizing, my lungs locked tight as if the air had been sucked from the room.

But I didn't panic I'd had two seconds to remember what it felt like , and to remind her I wasn't gone.

Azael spun then, sensing the backlash of her own spell reasserting itself. freewebnøvel.coɱ

She stared at me, eyes narrowing.

"Interesting," she murmured. "Very interesting."

If I could have smirked, I would have. Instead, I lay there, half-shattered and quietly proud.

[You did it,] the system said softly. [You moved.]

Barely.

[Doesn't matter. You broke through. That means it can be done again. Stronger. Longer.]

Good, I whispered inside. Because I'm going to kill her with my own hands.

[That's the spirit.]

Azael stepped closer, crouching once more.

"Did you think that was victory?" she asked gently. "That little twitch of rebellion? You're adorable."

She reached out, brushing my hair back from my face with something that might have been maternal if it hadn't radiated such malice.

"I don't care how hard you fight," she whispered. "You're already mine. Heart. Soul. Body."

The thing was she was wrong.

Because deep in my chest, my magic stirred again.

Not obeying , not retreating ,waiting.

When the moment came again and it would I would not settle for two seconds.

I would burn her from the inside out and then I would go home.