Extra's POV: My Obsessive Villainous Fiancee Is The Game's Final Boss-Chapter 390: All The Way Home
The entire layer was quickly settling into evening by the time Ren decided to return home. π³ππ²ππ¨ππ―πππ§ππΉ.π°πΌπ
The light orbs above the streets had dimmed into a pale silver sheen, mimicking the dusk that came with the setting sun, rather than the brightness of day.
Their glow cast long, uneven shadows over the stone paths, turning alleyways into yawning mouths and window shutters into staring eyes.
Ren walked with confident steps, his hood raised, and the hem of his cloak fluttering lightly behind him with each stride.
His body was relaxed, posture loose, but his senses were alert.
Every scrape of a boot, every gust of wind that didnβt quite match the rhythm of the street, it all filtered through his awareness like the slow turning of a blade against a whetstone.
He was being watched.
He didnβt need confirmation. The feeling had been with him ever since he left the merchant district.
And now, they were drawing closer.
He passed a narrow alley where a cloaked figure leaned against the wall, smoking a pipe.
The manβs head was bowed, but Ren noticed how still his body was. Unnaturally still.
There was no twitch of fingers, no idle shift of weight. Just frozen calm, like a sword waiting in its sheath.
Further ahead, near the corner tavern, a woman stood beside a fruit stall, seemingly browsing the wares.
Ren caught the subtle movement of her head as he approached, just a fractional tilt. She wasnβt really looking at what was in front of her, and didnβt touch a single piece of fruit.
And overhead, on the rooftops, he caught a barely visible flash of movement. Just a flicker of cloth against stone.
They werenβt amateurs.
They werenβt thugs.
He kept walking.
At one point, a young boy dashed past him chasing a rolling ball.
Ren sidestepped calmly, his footwork perfectly aligned with the rhythm of the boyβs stumble.
The child didnβt even notice, but Ren did. The childβs presence was too convenient. His timing was too much of a coincidence.
It might be a distraction, maybe. Or a test.
Ren yawned, then scratched his head.
Not yet.
He passed the old shrine built into the side of the street wall. A prayer stone glimmered under the lights as if polished, its offering bowl empty.
He slowed just a bit, pretending to examine it. In the polished surface of the stone, he caught another reflection.
A figure was following behind him, keeping exactly ten strides of distance.
Closer now.
They were all keeping pace. Never rushing. Never closing in too fast.
He recognized the tactic. This wasnβt intimidation. It was observation.
They were measuring him. Judging. Waiting for a moment when he would slip, panic, or react.
Ren smiled to himself. Not today.
He turned left at the bakery that had long since shut for the evening, the scent of old flour and hearth smoke still filling the air.
His boots echoed softly on the stone as he passed a wagon parked at an odd angle, enough to funnel him into a narrower lane. Intentional.
Another test.
He passed it without pause.
There were four of them now. Maybe more in the shadows.
He reached a small open square where children usually played. For now, it was empty, the benches cold and bare. A broken swing creaked quietly in the corner.
Above, a lone orb flickered uncertainly, the magic within it waning.
He stepped through it without breaking stride.
And yet, he didnβt teleport. He didnβt draw a weapon. He didnβt even reach into his spatial pouch.
Let them wonder why. Let them think he was arrogant, or foolish. Let them wonder what kind of man walks home while being circled by death.
The final stretch brought him into the residential rows, the smaller houses clustered together beneath the stone sky.
A few lights glowed in the upper windows. Curtains twitched. The neighborhood was quiet, calm. Safe.
Appearances were funny like that.
He approached the modest two-story house theyβd secured just days ago, carved from pale gray stone, with its reinforced wooden door.
He reached for the handle, opened the door, and stepped inside.
He didnβt waste a second once the door was shut behind him.
Lilith was lounging on the couch, a book in hand, her feet up and hair damp from a recent shower.
Thorn sat at the worktable, fiddling with one of the wooden blocks heβd taken to carving in his spare time.
Both of them looked up immediately when they saw his face.
Ren didnβt smile. "We need to talk. Now."
Lilith sat up instantly, her eyes narrowed. Thorn stood, straightening, his usual laziness wiped away.
"Theyβre after us." Ren said. "I was watched all the way home. No attacks, but they were strong. Silent. Coordinated. Not street gang muscle, or Silent Choir. Higher up."
Thorn let out a sharp breath. "How many?"
"At least four. Maybe more. But thatβs not the worrying part. They moved like trained Knights."
Lilith narrowed her eyes. "Which means they might not be from a gang at all."
Ren nodded grimly. "They werenβt there to kill me. Not yet. They were assessing me. Measuring. Iβve seen that kind of circling before, right before an execution squad moves in."
"We need air." Thorn muttered. "Upstairs."
They didnβt bother to argue. Together, the three climbed the narrow stairwell to the rooftop balcony.
The cool Carthage night air brushed against their skin, and they stepped into the shadowed space beneath the overhang.
Ren turned to speak, and in that moment, the rooftop exploded.
He reacted instantly, throwing his arms out and grabbing both Lilith and Thorn.
In the same breath, his mind reached for the coin heβd seeded in a far alleyway earlier that day, one heβd checked to be clear before even visiting the merchant district.
With a twist of spatial energy, the world folded around them.
The rooftop vanished.
They reappeared in the alley, dark and narrow, far from the security of their home.
The silence hit them first, not the unnatural kind of the Silent Choir, but the empty quiet of late night in a forgotten street. Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled.
Ren released them, chest heaving.
Lilith immediately scanned the surroundings, knives already in hand. Thorn growled low in his throat, his bone arm flexing.
"They blew up the house," Lilith said.
Ren nodded. "They were waiting. I think... I think one of the Elders marked us."
Thorn looked at him. "Do we have any idea which elder it is?"
"No idea."
Lilith hissed. "We canβt take on the Council. Not as we are."
Renβs jaw tightened. "No. We canβt. Not when theyβre all Rank 9s."
"So what do we do?" Thorn asked.
Ren looked down at the coin on the floor of the alley.
"We head deeper," he said.
Lilith blinked. "Into the restricted layers?"
"Yes." Renβs voice was firm now. "If we stay here, theyβll find us. If we go deeper, theyβll need to go through their own bureaucratic red tape to even reach us."
Thorn let out a low whistle. "So we vanish into the underlayers."
Ren turned to both of them. "It wonβt be safe. But itβs our best shot. And while weβre down there, we can start going for the Flame."
