Extra's POV: My Obsessive Villainous Fiancee Is The Game's Final Boss-Chapter 197: Who Survived The Apocalypse?

"One down." He muttered, and resumed his search.

Minutes passed.

The smoke refused to clear, and the city around him moaned with the soft groans of beams falling as they burned. But then, he felt another familiar pull.

His pouch.

He found it half-buried under a collapsed balcony beam, the enchanted cloth singed and torn, barely holding its shape. He crouched, cradling it like a wounded kitten. Its spatial integrity was failing, and he could feel the magic holding it together flickering like a dying candle.

"Hold on." He whispered.

He poured a stream of soul energy into the threads, focusing his will. The fabric trembled, then slowly mended itself, the seams re-stitching. Inside, he could feel the contents stabilizing. The pouch was safe again.

With a deep breath, he reached inside, brushing past stacks of coins until he found a few silver pieces. He withdrew them and closed his eyes.

The moment he absorbed them, the euphoric rush hit him, warm, golden energy filling his chest, his head, his soul. He poured it all into his plant switch, dumping the energy into the ground.

From beneath his feet, fibers sprouted, weaving up his legs to his body in twisting strands. They coiled together to form a lightweight outfit to cover his nakedness. He flexed his hands, now clothed and ready.

"Two down." He muttered. "One more."

He moved faster now, through the smoky haze, completely focused solely on the last object.

Freedom.

The sword was calling to him faintly, distant, as if flung far during the battle. He followed the thread of his soul energy, weaving through the burnt and toppled buildings.

Finally, he saw it.

Freedom stood buried up to the hilt in a stone slab. Its surface shimmered faintly, looking like it hadn't even been touched by the explosion.

Ren knelt and wrapped his fingers around the grip. The moment he touched it, Freedom hummed in his hand, recognizing its master.

He sheathed it, placing it gently back in his pouch.

Time to find the others.

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He trudged through the ruins, eyes scanning for signs of movement. The fog of destruction refused to lift, and it became clear that everything had been leveled. The tightly packed and tall towers of Rainhold were reduced to heaps of blackened stone. Homes, shops, and plazas, all gone.

The only signs of life were blackened chunks of what had once been people. Or zombies. He couldn't tell anymore.

Suddenly, the sounds of footsteps reached him.

He froze, raising his palm in the direction the sound was coming from, his bracers ready.

But the moment he felt it, his resonance sang.

He smiled. He already knew that there was no way she wouldn't survive this.

"Ren!" A voice cried.

Three figures burst from the smoke. Lilith was first, an expression of mild fear on her face, and her hair wild. Elias and Valen followed close behind, weapons drawn, eyes scanning the ruins for threats.

The moment Lilith saw him, her eyes went wide. She broke into a sprint and threw herself into his arms, sobbing breathlessly.

"I thought—!" She gasped. "I thought something had happened. I couldn't feel your resonance at first. If our loops didn't resonate, I—!"

Ren laughed softly, wrapping his arms around her. "Lilith," he whispered, "I'm basically immortal, remember? It'll take more than a city-destroying explosion to kill me."

She hit his chest lightly, tears still in her eyes. "Don't joke about that, Ren."

Elias stepped forward, grinning despite the ash coating his face. "Glad to see you alive."

Valen simply nodded, arms crossed.

Ren looked around, finally noting the absence. "Where's Thorn?"

The smiles faded.

"He's not with you?" Elias asked quietly.

Ren's breath hitched. "No." He muttered. "He left so that I could fight the Red Prophet without worry."

Elias' eyes widened. "Shit."

Without another word, Ren turned and began running. Lilith, Elias, and Valen followed, calling out into the smoke.

Then, in the middle of a cratered street, Ren skidded to a halt.

There it was.

A hardened ball of cloth. Dense. Slightly singed. In the middle of the destruction like an egg.

Thorn's cloak.

"Thorn!" Ren cried, racing to it. He dropped to his knees and placed a hand on the outer shell. The moment he did, the cloak softened, its hardened threads losing its rigidity like a sigh of relief.

The bundle unraveled, and Thorn dropped limply onto the rubble.

Ren caught him.

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His body was a mess.

Bones were snapped, his torso bruised black and red. Blood poured from his mouth and nose. But he was breathing. Shallow, but alive.

But he wouldn't be. Not for long.