I Became The Pope, Now What?

Chapter 751  750. The Living, The Dead & The Dying

"Father! It's me… Xye… Hold my hand!" Sylvester heard that voice, and as if every cell in his body worked towards it, he tried to reach for it. "Xye-Xylena?" "Take my hand!"

He didn't know what he was reaching for, but that voice, filled with so much compassion, fear, and desperation, moved his body on its own. His fading, dying body that was nothing more than a formless essence found the last ounce of hope. He had no hands, so he simply tried to feel the crack in that void. Giving off a very different sensation, he reached in, with Dalgan, Zenith, and Miraj shoved before him. But to his utter shock, an actual hand came out of that crack.

"Hold it!" Sylvester roared and pushed Dalgan, Zenith, and Miraj forward. "Meow!" Miraj tried to resist being pushed forward. "You come too, Max! I won't go!"

Sylvester pushed forward, "I'm not leaving you… don't worry." But there was much to be worried about; Barely anything was left of his form. So weak and powerless, almost all of his boundless energy was used up. The red, flaring mist that formed him had turned translucent with tiny hints of tint. But there was much to be worried about; Barely anything was left of his form. So weak and powerless, almost all of his boundless energy was used up. The red, flaring mist that formed him had turned translucent with tiny hints of tint. Crack!

As if thunder boomed, Sylvester noticed his body turning lighter and the figures in his embrace vanishing. The explosions surrounded all around them by then, nowhere to escape, and yet there was one. 'Lesson learned.' He thought at last, before losing himself to the sensation. A hand caught him and pulled him into a strange feeling. It was warm but not painful. It was soothing but not overwhelming. Everything felt just right as if he was finally home once again. But he couldn't see anything or sense any voices. Something was wrong, and he couldn't find an answer. …

Chirp!

Chirp!

There was some noise akin to insects and creatures of the night in a dense forest. The breezy sound of rustling leaves also echoed all around, and slowly, Sylvester found his senses waking up to it all. He could once again feel his hands and feet, see around him, and smell nature. It was a calming and soothing experience as the stars shone in the night sky above, with the moonlight providing ample illumination. 'What is this place?' He wondered and simply started walking without much thought. It all felt so surreal that he was almost certain this was a dream. However, he soon heard the crackling sound of fire burning some wood. Then he noticed a flickering yellow light ahead, signifying there was indeed a fire. So he continued on that path between the trees and eventually came to a round grassy opening with logs of wood on the ground, a person sitting on it, and a bonfire in the middle. "Where am I?" He asked the man sitting alone by the fire. He could only see his back—a regular tunic, brown pants, and a bald head. The man laughed without looking at him and patted the log right beside him, inviting him to sit. "Not home, Lord Bard."

"That voice!" Sylvester's mind went numb. His heart pounded rapidly in his chest. Countless memories and moments of his life flashed before his eyes, and before he knew it, there was 'sweat' in his eyes. He rushed and jumped over the log to turn and looked at the man's face. Yes, he recognized it. "Sir Dolorem?!" The same face as the one he saw that wretched and fateful night in the Deserte village—the ebony-skinned, bald man with a smile of a kind father. Sylvester almost fell down, but scurried over to sit on the log beside the man. "H-How? Where is this place?" Sir Dolorem silently looked at him the whole time, his smile never leaving his lips. Finally, he moved and placed his palm on Sylvester's shoulder. "You've grown up so well, Lord Bard… Pope… You kept your promise."

That broke Sylvester, as he felt everything had been going wrong ever since the old man died. He abruptly hugged him, "It wasn't worth losing you… there is no way forward. It wasn't your time to go… I needed you beside the throne."

While he remained embracing Sir Dolorem, he noticed a young boy had just arrived behind them. Innocent faced, probably nine years old or so. He was grinning and scratching his red hair. Sylvester left Sir Dolorem's embrace and felt dumbfounded. "Shane?"

"But you kept the promise with me, Teacher." The boy came over and sat beside Sylvester on his other side. "You became the Pope and made everyone happy." Sylvester kept looking around, wondering what the place was. Was it the land of the dead? Was he dead? Was this where the dead go? Crunch!

More rustling of leaves echoed, and three more figures came walking out of the forest and into the open area with a bonfire. They all took seats on the wooden logs around the fire, and sure enough, Sylvester recognized them all. "Am I dead?" He asked right away. "Grandpa Monk? Pope?... Markus?" With the same old white-bearded kind face, the former Pope looked even more at peace now than what Sylvester remembered before. Beside him, Grandpa Monk looked old but much more energetic as his old eyes opened wider now. As for Markus, he still looked like what Sylvester remembered when they had turned eighteen—young, tall, and thin. "Thank you for proving that my life wasn't a waste." Pope Axel Tar Kreed voiced. "This old man here believed I wasted my life."

"That you did, my son," Grandpa Monk replied in his usual bickering tone toward his adopted son. "You failed to aid the fated Pope better. Sir Dolorem did not need to die."

"I did." Sir Dolorem interrupted them. "I knew it was coming. After having served Sylvester for so long. I had realized I wouldn't be able to stand beside him forever. At the speed he grew, I was nothing but an ant before the opponents he faced. I was a mere moral supp—"

"You were much more than that." Sylvester stopped Sir Dolorem from finishing his words, feeling overwhelmed with emotions. "You guided me, you aided me and kept me focused on the goal. You were the father I never had—a good father."

Bam! n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

Grandpa Monk suddenly knocked his wooden staff on Pope Axel's head, "Learn from Sir Dolorem. That's how you earn one's goodwill."

"My time is over. Why bother with it now?" Pope Axel barked back. "And why do you hit me so much now? Is that because I'm no longer the Pope?"

"That's precisely right." Shamelessly, the old Monk replied. Sylvester chuckled at the sight and looked at Markus, "Your time came too soon."

Markus shook his head. "I'm thankful to you for keeping the promise, Sylvester. You helped my family so much. But this isn't the time or place for you to be. Go back, my brother. You have so much more to do."

"Yep, yep!" Shane chirped. "There must be so many more like me who wanna be bards, Teacher. Teach them how to sing… I also practice a lot here. Sir Dolorem helps me, too."

Feeling utterly devastated and depressed at the sight of what he had lost, he stood up with doubtful thoughts. "I'm afraid it's not a fight we can—"

"No!"

All of a sudden, they all spoke at the same time, capturing Sylvester's undivided attention. "This isn't where you belong!"

Woosh!

The voices multiplied and echoed together. They had a strange magical substance in them that threw Sylvester off his feet and into the sky towards the single massive moon. "Nooo…" Sylvester tried to latch onto Sir Dolorem, but he was sucked into the huge moon. Everything turned white all around him once again. But he still had his human body, and soon, he noticed the floor beneath his feet. "Don't leave me, please." "Hmm?" He looked down, and there stood a very young, probably six-year-old girl holding his hand. Her ashen black hair was recognizable, her teal eyes contrasting in that white space. She wore nothing but dirty brown rags, torn in places; her entire body smelling of dirt. "Xye?"

The little girl smiled so warmly that it seemed to sparkle. Her little head bobbed as she tried to pull him behind her. "Let's go."

When his gaze fell on her hand, which held his, he felt a surge of countless memories enter his mind. They clearly didn't belong to him; no, they were Xylena's. They were the memories that had been calling him through that void of dreadful darkness. He watched all the misery Xylena faced from the day she was forced to escape her kingdom alone. Merely a little five or six year old girl, unaware of the cruel world that lay beyond the walls of the castle. He watched her struggle the entire time, but growing as well. Xyelna ate rats she caught, insects she found, and she ate grass when times were too desperate. She drank from rivers, bathed in rain, and hid from slavers and traffickers. She wore cotton sacks as clothes, and she walked barefoot across East Sol.

Not even adults could survive that misery, let alone a child.

At the age of six, she worked in village taverns, cleaning dishes and serving tables. She escaped when assaulted, or someone from people who tried to sell her. She grew far beyond her years, honing her sense of danger and knowing when to escape. She watched her best friend get abused in unspeakable ways right before her eyes. She fought her best for years until she was betrayed by a Bishop, and got sold to the Cannibals. Fate brought them together, and the years of misery she faced was a journey. "You…" Sylvester lost the words in his mouth when he looked down at the girl beside him. This was what she looked at six. There was still some naivety in her eyes. "I have no right to call myself a victim of fate."

"Let's go now, Father. Everyone's waiting." Xylena chirped once again and exerted herself to pull him.

But Sylvester didn't budge, still unable to forget the peaceful calm he felt while sitting by that fire with Sir Dolorem and the rest. He wanted to remain there. He looked behind, and to his amusement, the whole crowd stood there staring back at him. "Go on!" Pope Axel boomed in the old voice of the Pope that Sylvester remembered. "Don't choose a coward's path. Your destiny is still being written."

"By you!" Sir Dolorem concluded and stepped forward from the crowd to reach behind him and push him forward with his hand. "Go, my son."

All of a sudden, Sylvester realized he was having to look upwards to see Sir Dolorem's face. So he looked down and noticed his hands and legs had turned small and his palms chubby. He looked to the side and noticed that Xylena was the same height as him.

"Argh…!"

In the next moment, he felt his body had once again gained height, but his back was arched. His hands now looked old and dirty, with countless small wrinkles on his skin. He caressed his own face; This wasn't him. This was old Johnathan.

A pool of tears gleamed in his eyes, and he started following wherever the small Xylena was leading him. His body eventually changed again back to adult Sylvester. And he could swear he heard Diana's original voice ringing everywhere. "You don't live for yourself, John… I didn't."

Her voice didn't appear again, and he just kept walking with Xylena. As he moved, he noticed the little girl was also growing up over time. From six years to nine years old, then in her teens, and finally becoming a young lady. Yet, there remained a smile on her lips after all she went through. Before he knew it, he began to lose his physical body once again and turned into a very small, palm-sized flare of yellow and orange fiery mist. It was all that was left of him after the whole ordeal. "Wake up, Father."

"Hmm?" He looked for Xylena, but she was nowhere to be seen.

"Wake up!"

The white light started to twist and curl around him, spiraling into a vortex. He felt as if he was sucked into it, but it wasn't painful. "Wake up!"

"Maxy!"

"Where's Sylvester?!"

"Who are you two demons?!" "Call the guards!"

"What happened to the Pope?"

Sylvester heard countless voices but he recognized all of them. Xavia, Aurora, Healer Hendrix, and Gabriel were there. The white space eventually began to dissipate and leave behind flickering images of a room.

'Sickbay?' He recognized the place. But instead of standing, he felt his body hovering near the ceiling, and nobody was able to see him. He could still feel his mind losing its senses, and the ability to think. 'Ah… I'm still dying. I can't…'

Dalgan and Zenith were there too, looking tired and out of breath, sitting in the corner of the room. Meanwhile, Miraj was once again invisible as he tried to tell Xavia about Sylvester. Sylvester, in that tiny, invisible, palm-sized energy form, flew past their faces toward the window. "Open the window!" Xylena abruptly opened her eyes and jumped from the bed. She ran to the window before slamming her fist onto the glass. "Don't you die!" ________________