Extra's POV: My Obsessive Villainous Fiancee Is The Game's Final Boss
Chapter 349: The Furies

Chapter 349: The Furies

A violet portal hissed into life from nothingness, tearing open the snowy air like a wound.

From its spinning core, three figures stumbled out, coughing, gasping, and barely able to keep their balance.

Snow crunched beneath their boots as they fell to their knees in a clearing ringed by rivers of lava.

Despite the fact that they were surrounded by rivers of molten rocks from all sides, the heat glowing through the air, the snow was still thick in the clearing they were on, and the air was freezing cold.

The man who had once held the power of a Rank 9 Knight, swollen with the strength of his comrades, now stared at his hands with growing horror.

The glow in his eyes had dulled. The trembling in his limbs betrayed the truth his body was trying to hide.

The power... it was leaving him.

He clenched his fists, but they no longer responded with that impossible strength. The death of two more of the Seven had cut into him like a hot knife through butter.

His connection to the shared pool of power was still as strong as it had ever been, but the energy within the pool had dwindled drastically.

He was no longer Rank 9.

Not even close.

Now, his strength was much closer to a Rank 8 Knight. And even then, he could tell that he was weak.

"Damn it." He breathed, falling fully to the snow, his fingers sinking into the cold. "No..."

Behind him, the last two surviving members of the Seven stood frozen. Their cloaks fluttered in the rising steam. Their eyes, wide with disbelief, stared at the portal that had carried them to safety.

Had their comrades survived? What if Death followed them here too?

The portal flickered, and they shuddered back in fear.

Then it blinked out of existence, leaving only silence.

And then came the laughter.

Soft at first. Musical. Almost gentle.

But it grew.

Their heads snapped up, eyes drawn to the sound like puppets on strings.

Three figures stood in the snowy mist ahead, wearing dark cloaks and blindfolded with another dark strip of cloth, but these ones had been decorated with threads of silver and gold.

Each of them radiated power, but the one in the center seemed to vibrate with an intensity that set the Seven As One on edge.

The Furies had arrived.

"Morgan." The former Rank 9 hissed through gritted teeth, his voice shaking. "You did this."

Morgan, the one in the center, tilted her head slightly. Her smile was cold.

"You said a Divine Gift would awaken on the Eighth Peak." He growled. "You said no one else would be there. You said this was our chance!"

"I told you it would appear." Morgan replied, her voice as smooth as the snow still falling in just that clearing alone. "I never said you’d be the only ones interested."

"You knew Death would come!" He roared, staggering to his feet. "You knew and you sent us anyway!"

"You went of your own free will." She said, her smile widening. "Is it my fault your ambition outweighed your intelligence?"

The two remaining Seven drew their weapons, faces contorted in rage.

"We’ll kill you." One snarled. "Here and now."

Morgan stepped forward, graceful as a dancer, the snow parting beneath her feet. The blindfold over her eyes remained untouched, but her posture was perfect.

"You can try." She whispered.

They attacked as one, all three charging with fury and desperation. The man that had once been Rank 9 roared, power crackling from his blade.

Morgan didn’t move until the last moment.

Then she flowed.

She turned and twisted, sliding between slashes as if she could see every attack before it happened.

Her hand swept up, catching one blade, and she twisted, snapping the wielder’s arm like a twig before tearing his throat out with her claws.

He dropped like a puppet cut from its strings.

The second tried to flank her. She turned into the spin, her foot sweeping low. He tumbled forward, and her knee met his jaw with a sickening crunch. As he fell, she drove her fist through his chest.

He collapsed, blood already soaking the snow.

Only one remained.

The former Rank 9 backed away, his golden sword trembling in his hand. The pressure on his body was immense, his breath shallow.

"Morgan! Wait!" He gasped, desperation filling his voice. "We were friends. You can’t just— just kill me!"

Morgan tilted her head again.

"But I’m not killing a friend." She said, a soft smile on her face. "I’m simply pruning a weed."

He raised his sword, crying out one last time, but she was already there.

There was a blur of motion, a flash of claws through the air, and a breathless choke.

Then silence.

He dropped to the ground.

Morgan stood alone, her blindfolded face calm.

Behind her, the other two Furies stepped forward, their blindfolds glinting as they took in the scene.

Morgan turned to them. "The Seven As One are no more. Death is still outside the rings."

She turned towards the giant blizzard in the distance that protected the Eighth Peak.

Her lips curled into a smile.

"The Divine Gift belongs to us."

[][][][][]

Thorn stumbled to a stop beside a massive, moss covered root and dropped to his knees, his chest heaving.

Every breath came with a dry wheeze that rattled in his throat like loose pebbles in a jar. He pressed his palm against a tree trunk to steady himself, but even that seemed to drain him.

"I... can’t... run anymore..." He gasped, sweat pouring down his face despite the cool jungle air.

Lilith collapsed beside him, one hand braced against the ground, the other clutching her side. Her breathing was heavy but more controlled. Even so, her lips were pale, her limbs trembling from fatigue.

They had been running all night.

Ren remained standing a few feet away, barely winded. His shoulders rose and fell at a steady rhythm.

Even though his cloak was just as damp from sweat and foliage as his two companions, he still stood strong, his eyes remaining alert.

He turned toward them, finally relenting. "Alright." He said. "We’ll stop here."

He walked over, pulling two small flasks from his pouch and handing them over, followed by strips of beef jerky wrapped in wax paper.

"Eat. Drink. Don’t move."

Thorn didn’t argue. He took the water with shaking hands and drank deeply, then shoved the jerky into his mouth without ceremony. He let out a low groan of satisfaction.

"I swear," Thorn said between gulps, "I’m never running again. Let the Divine Gift come to me next time."

Lilith managed a weak chuckle, tearing a strip of jerky and chewing slowly. "If we live long enough, I’ll invent a flying carriage."

Ren stood near the edge of the clearing, scanning the jungle.

The thick canopy overhead had thinned just slightly. The oppressive darkness was easing, giving way to a faint bluish hue that filtered through the leaves.

Dawn.

It was morning.

He took a quiet breath, then he turned his head slightly, his voice cool.

"Stay here. I have something to take care of."

Thorn looked up from his water flask. "Wait. What do you mean ’take care of something’? What’s out there?"

Ren didn’t reply at first. Instead, he raised a hand and pointed.

Thorn followed the gesture, his tired eyes narrowing as he looked into the dark between the trees.

And then he saw it.

Dozens of glowing yellow eyes.

High above, in the branches. Low to the ground. Lurking between vines and trunks.

Silent. Watching.

Thorn swallowed hard. "Oh."

Lilith’s hand drifted to her knives again.

The orangutans were back.

And this time, they’d come prepared.