Extra's POV: My Obsessive Villainous Fiancee Is The Game's Final Boss-Chapter 212: Find Him!

The very air vibrated with power.

The Pope's resonance, dense, suffocating, and oppressive, filled every corner of the throne room like an invisible ocean.

The silent clerics who were robed in the purest white and stood along the walls of the room had their heads bowed low, trembling under the sheer weight of it.

The golden spires of the Pope's high-backed throne gleamed under the flickering light of the torches spaced at even intervals around the hall. He sat rigid, his gloved hands clenched around the armrests.

Just one look at him and it was easy to tell that he was just barely holding back his fury.

He glared at Father Atticus, who knelt right before his throne, sweat running down his brows despite the cold of the room.

The Pope spoke, his voice breaking the silence.

"I kept you in the palace, Atticus, for one and one thing only. I kept you there for the day a situation exactly like this would arise." He snarled. "Your sole task, your only reason for breathing, was to keep Mikael shackled."

Atticus flinched at the man's words, feeling the pressure of his resonance. "Your Holiness." He stammered, voice shaking. "I... I didn't think he would— Mikael has always been weak! I thought... I thought he wouldn't have the guts to do something like this."

"You thought?" The Pope hissed, his hands tightening on the throne. The massive force of his resonance loop creaked against the floor, threatening to shatter it.

"Did I put you there to think, Atticus? Was that your divine task? To measure the King's guts like some marketplace hag sizing up pigs?!"

Atticus pressed his forehead against the floor in full prostration. "I have failed, Your Holiness. I accept whatever punishment you see fit."

The Pope leaned back slowly, inhaling deeply. He needed to calm himself. He needed to restrain his resonance, or the entire hall would collapse from the pressure.

He tightened his grip against his loop, dragging it back into the depths of himself. With a final exhale, he leaned back in his chair. A second later, he began drumming his fingers against the armrest of his throne.

There was a moment of silence.

Then, he spoke, voice low but dangerous.

"You will be punished, Atticus." He said coldly. "Accordingly. But not now. First..." His voice trailed off into thought.

The Pope tilted his head slightly upward, eyes closing in contemplation.

Mikael... you fool... you've forced my hand.

When he opened his eyes again, he knew exactly what to do. And what to make it look like he was doing.

"Summon the Synod." He ordered without looking at Atticus. "It is time for a council."

Atticus bowed, murmuring frantic prayers of gratitude, and fled the throne room like a rat escaping a sinking ship.

The Pope remained seated, watching the double doors swing shut with a deep boom.

Slowly, he lifted his hand and gave a slight dismissive flick.

The robed clerics along the walls immediately obeyed. Heads bowed low, they shuffled out silently, robes whispering against the floor.

All left.

Except one.

For a moment, silence reigned.

Then, the last remaining cleric stepped forward, moving with a predator's grace.

At the foot of the dais, the figure stopped.

There, with deliberate slowness, the figure threw back their hood, revealing a cold, featureless metal mask that gleamed under the torchlight.

It was Contessa.

The Pope smiled thinly at the sight of her.

"Contessa." He said, his voice smoother now, almost pleasant. "My blade in the dark."

She bowed deeply. "Your Holiness."

The Pope studied her, then gave a slow nod.

"You've done well." He said. "Rainhold has fallen. Although we lost Father Francis, that was his price for not listening to orders."

Contessa said nothing. There was no need for acknowledgment where duty was concerned.

The Pope chuckled softly, a sound that had no single drop of humor.

"I must admit," he said, steepling his fingers, "I had expected Mikael to crawl back to me after Rainhold. To kneel, begging for the Church's salvation. I underestimated him."

Contessa remained silent, sensing that commentary was neither needed nor wanted.

The Pope's smile faded.

"Still," he continued, "even with this... setback... we have achieved much. Rainhold is gone. Fear has taken root. The plague gnaws at the mind of everyone in Elnoria."

He tilted his head slightly.

"And the infected? Their movements?"

Contessa answered calmly. "The infected are... sleeping, Your Holiness. They expended great energy destroying Rainhold. They slumber now to recover."

The Pope snorted softly, reclining in his throne. "Weak creatures." He said dismissively. "But useful."

He laced his fingers together.

"But this is good." He mused aloud. "Let them sleep. It will give me time. Time to remind Elnoria where its true salvation lies."

He leaned forward slightly, an actual smile appearing on his face this time.

"Once we have secured our hold... once the Monarchy is crushed under its own arrogance... then we shall turn to the plague. And erase it. With the full fury of the Creator's light."

He sat back again, tapping a finger idly on the armrest.

"Tell me." He said. "Where is Mikael?"

Contessa hesitated.

The Pope's eyes narrowed.

"Speak."

Contessa inclined her head. "The King... has vanished from the capital, Your Holiness. His exact location is unknown."

The Pope's tapping stopped.

The air thickened again.

"Vanished?" He repeated, voice dangerously low.

Contessa nodded. "We believe he fled upon realizing the backlash his decree would bring."

The Pope closed his eyes for a long moment.

When he opened them again, they burned. freewёbnoνel.com

"Find him." He ordered.

Contessa bowed.

"And when you do," the Pope continued, his voice cold, "kill him."

He smiled thinly once more.

"It doesn't matter if the people suspect the Church." He said, almost to himself. "Let them suspect. Let them whisper and grumble. In time, their fear will outweigh their hate."

He rose from his throne with a ripple of resonant power, casting a massive shadow down the length of the room.

"They will see that only the Church can protect them. Only the Church can save them."

He turned his gaze upon Contessa, his will like a spear through her soul.

"And when they kneel," he whispered, "they will not kneel to kings."