Extra's POV: My Obsessive Villainous Fiancee Is The Game's Final Boss-Chapter 231: Ascension Preparations

The Chained Man leaned against one of the pillars that ringed the walls of the Pope's throne room, a faint smile on his face. There were no robed clerics, just him.

The world around him shimmered like heat above a flame, looking distant, but clear enough to be seen.

He watched everything before him play out as if he was looking through a glass window. So close he could reach out and touch it, but untouchable all the same.

This was one of the techniques he'd created, an advanced manifestation of his chains. Or rather, an advanced use for the chains wrapped around him. After all, what do chains do? They restrict. And so, he restricted himself.

This was a technique he'd borrowed, in part, from the Forgotten. He had shaped his energy into a state that placed him both within and beyond the boundaries of the world.

In this state, he was neither a ghost nor an observer. Rather, he was like nature given awareness, watching but unable to act. A prisoner of perception.

He folded his arms, watching in amusement as the Pope paced furiously across the length of the throne room. Wisps of light poured off him, slipping through the hold he had over his resonance.

The man looked like he was ready to throw hands at any moment. His head snapped up as the door opened and a messenger, who looked like he held the rank of Bishop, raced into the room.

"Your Holiness!" The messenger went on a knee, his shoulders trembling. He'd probably lost in whatever they'd used to decide who would deliver the news. Unlucky man. "King Mikael's army is a day away!" He declared.

The Pope's face twisted in disdain. He waved the messenger off like one would swat a fly, and one could actually see the weight being taken off the Bishop's shoulder. The man looked like he'd been brought back to life.

Then, the Pope's voice thundered. "Summon Atticus. Now."

One of the Chosen outside the room scurried off to do just that.

A few moments later, there was a ripple in the air, and out stepped a familiar, tall, lean man.

Father Atticus. Member of the Synod, and the master of spatial resonance.

He bowed without speaking.

The Pope didn't offer pleasantries. "Why," he asked, his voice eerily calm, "have all our Chosen forces not yet been transported to Edenhold?"

Atticus blinked, hesitating. "There have been a few complications, Your Holiness. Spatial overlaps, lack of organization, and quite frankly, fatigue. My resonances have been under quite a lot of strain—"

"I do not care for excuses, Atticus." The Pope spat. "You will have them here before sunrise, or you will answer to me with your life. Do you understand me?"

Atticus bowed lower, voice tight. "Yes, Your Holiness."

"Good. Then go. Move the heavens if you must. Just do it."

The man vanished in a quiet tear of air. The Pope exhaled, his robes settling around him like the mantle of judgment itself.

The Chained Man tilted his head, watching with quiet amusement.

Then, something odd happened.

The Pope stiffened. His gaze swept across the room, searching, nostrils flaring like a hound catching scent. He turned in a slow circle, the resonance around him prickling like a hedgehog's spines.

"Something's wrong." He murmured to himself.

The Chained Man chuckled quietly, even that action sending an infinitesimal vibration in the resonance that threaded the world.

So the Pope could feel him, or the subtle change in the resonance of the room, the resonance of nature, but could not see him, nor track him. Not while he existed in this state. He admired the old man's instincts, at least.

With a final look at the old man, he straightened and walked out of the throne room. He looked in both directions of the hallway, and chose the path to the right.

Whistling to himself, he strolled through the upper halls of the Holy Cathedral of Edenhold, amusing himself by walking through the pillars, door frames, and even the light of the sun.

He might be older than the humans, but that didn't mean he couldn't have fun.

He passed priests praying. Chosen training. Synod members sitting on their hands, doing nothing except spending time being more scared of the Pope than Mikael's army. They'll regret that.

But even as he strolled around like he owned the place, no one saw anything. He was like a wraith. Like he'd always been there and yet, was not there.

The Chained Man stopped at a window overlooking the city of Edenhold. The people could feel the tension in the air. They knew something terrible was coming. Even the golden towers of the city that always glowed in the light of day were somehow less shiny.

His mind went back to his friends. His family. The Three.

"You wanted speed. You wanted me to accelerate my ascension." He whispered. "Very well. I shall do it."

He closed his eyes.

The Prophet was moving. He could feel it.

Not the false prophets of the Church, no. The Red Prophet. The one who had accepted his gift and let the tree consume him. Vesper, his beloved tool, was guiding an army of infected towards Edenhold.

He was bringing a storm without form. A hunger without limit.

Neither the Pope nor the King would see it coming.

They would tear into each other like mad beasts, blinded by pride and righteousness.

And then, when their blood soaked the earth, when the Tree had drunk deep and the resonance of the dead blanketed the land...

Then he would ascend to godhood.

Just like the Forgotten.

Just like the Blurred.

Gods, not of scripture, but of silence.

Not of mercy, but of fury.

The Chained Man turned away from the window, drifting toward the chapel deeper in the Cathedral. The heart of worship, where the people clung to hope like children to fire.

They did not know that their hope had already been devoured.

His chains stirred and reality shimmered around him, an attempt to unravel his technique and expose him. But it wouldn't work.

He chuckled to himself. Even now, Yggdrasil was trying to fight him. But it wouldn't succeed. It had brought the Stolen to fight their Calamities. It had brought an ant to fight against a flood.

The Chained Man chuckled. Even that ant would be here soon. And he'll be crushed.