Extra's POV: My Obsessive Villainous Fiancee Is The Game's Final Boss-Chapter 223: Meeting Of The Three

The Pope's throne room was empty when the Chained Man entered. The old man was with his precious Synod, trying to put out the fires of his own making.

In the war between the Church and the Monarchy, King Mikael was already ahead. He now had a slowly growing army with Resonance magic, and the public opinion on his side.

But that didn't matter to the Chained Man. He was just here for the chaos.

The massive double doors of the room closed behind him with a reverberating boom, their echoes rolling across the marble like distant thunder.

Every step he took echoed through the air with a slow, deliberate cadence, the clink of the chains wrapped around his torso and limbs filling the air with a strange but comforting rhythm.

He walked with no urgency, like a ghost returning to a place he had been watching from the dark. And now, he was stepping into the light.

His fingers trailed lazily along one of the pillars that lined the hall, the same ones the robed clerics stood in front of whenever the Pope was present.

The pillars had been painted with scenes of divine miracles, sanctified wars, and holy obedience. And each painting told a lie. Lies crafted by generations of men who claimed to speak for gods.

He chuckled, the sound soft and sardonic. freeweɓnovel.cѳm

"Gaudy." He muttered, the echo of the word bouncing across the empty room. "But bold."

He stopped before the Pope's high backed throne, watching the way it caught the light. The throne radiated power, not a magical kind or one that could be seen through the naked eyes, but the Chained Man could see it.

The kind of power born from the sheer weight of belief built into it by centuries of obedience.

"I'm going to enjoy this." He saved, savoring the sound of his own voice.

From somewhere, everywhere, an amused voice filled the air. "Still dramatic as ever, Lars. I'd forgotten how much I missed your particular brand of insane."

The Chained Man turned slowly, a smile splitting his face. "Blurred Man. Still refusing to be consistent, I see. You haven't aged a day. Or perhaps you have. I wouldn't be able to tell."

From the edge of perception, a man emerged. Or rather, refused to resolve. His features blurred like smoke in a storm. One moment he was tall, the next he was short. One moment lean, the next broad.

The world twisted around him, unable, or unwilling, to keep him in focus.

The Blurred Man gave a low laugh, his voice distorted but still familiar. "You, me, and the Forgotten. The strangest group of Three."

"The Three." The Chained Man repeated, his tone softening. The chains slithered and creaked, tightening against his ribs. "Mad, bound, and gone. What a sorry sight we are."

The Blurred Man strolled past him, eyeing the architecture. "The Pope has taste. Or maybe a decorator with aspirations of godhood."

He made his way to the throne and sat with indifference. "Comfortable." He declared, drumming his fingers on the armrest.

The Chained Man raised a brow. "You didn't come all this way just to test the furniture."

"No I didn't." The Blurred Man replied, resting his chin on one hand. "We're getting impatient. How long is this ascension going to take? When would the Three come together again?"

The Chained Man's grin faded slightly. "Not long now. Patience, old friend. This isn't a bonfire. It's a world on the edge of immolation. And for it to burn cleanly, the foundation must crack."

He turned to the stained glass windows. Light from the stars outside shone through depictions of saints and prophets.

"I am cultivating the highest possible conflict. Monarchy and Church, once unified, now at each other's throats. The people no longer know who their gods are. Their chants are no longer prayers. They are war cries."

He looked back. "Blood is inevitable. And blood is fuel. And with both Blood and Conflict, my ascension would begin."

The Blurred Man crossed one leg over the other. "This wouldn't be necessary if you hadn't let the Penny Prince chain you."

The Chained Man laughed, the chains around him rattling like rusted windchimes. "Anders Vermilion barely understood the weapon he held in his hands. I was his to control, but it was like handing a sword to a toddler."

"For all his genius, that was what he was. A toddler."

"Isn't everyone a toddler compared to us? Even that silent healer." The Blurred Man chuckled.

The Chained Man looked down at the chains coiled across his body.

"These chains. This seal. It is power, yes. But also curse. For anyone can chain the Chained Man."

A moment of silence passed before he sighed.

"I miss our home." He murmured. "The sound of rain on old rooftops. The way the lanterns flickered during festivals."

The Blurred Man approached, his body flickering with each step. "Nostalgia is a disease, Lars. And you don't have the luxury of being sick. We do what we must. You remember that."

Lars nodded slowly. "Yes. I remember. We must cleanse this world from the old enemy."

"The Trees of Power must fall." The Blurred Man said. "All of them. Before Yggdrasil wraps its roots around this world completely."

Lars's eyes narrowed. "Even if it means the annihilation of all living beings. Even if it means unleashing the Calamities."

The Blurred Man stopped inches away, his distorted form flickering slightly. "Especially then, Lars. Especially then."

The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was filled with memory and purpose.

"They're waiting, Lars." The Blurred Man said quietly, placing a warped hand on his friend's shoulder. "Our people out there in the Abyss. They're all watching."

The Chained Man nodded once.

He turned toward an empty corner of the throne room.

"I'm sorry, Forgotten." He whispered. "I'll hurry it up."

The air in that corner shimmered like a heat haze. And for one moment, a fraction of time, a woman appeared, smiling.

She didn't speak. She didn't move. And then, as if she'd never existed, she flickered away. Forgotten again.

The Blurred Man gave a final nod. "We trust you. Don't make us regret it."

And with that, he blurred away, reality folding into itself in his wake.

Lars, the Chained Man, stood alone beneath the vaulted ceiling of the Pope's throne room. The throne stood silent behind him, and the windows glared down with light.

He looked to the throne, then to the doors.

"Time to burn it all down."