I Became The Pope, Now What?

Darkness covered his vision, and he felt his eyelids growing heavier than ever. In the warmth of his mother's embrace, Sylvester finally allowed his body to fall unconscious. But he didn't know why he still found his mind active, he knew he was asleep, yet he felt conscious enough to know he was sleeping—like a lucid dream. But at the same time, it didn't seem like a dream since he had no control over anything.

The darkness was haunting. He had neither body nor mobility. He felt no pain, no sensation. Only his eyes were the sole means of interaction.

"You are on the right path, having shown your wrath." Soon a twinkling spark appeared in his view, and it continued to grow bigger. The spark spread everywhere and gradually started to illuminate the darkness.

After some time, as the light engulfed almost everything, Sylvester once again found himself face to face with the being many had stopped praying to. Solis was before him, sitting on the same gigantic throne, his whole body seeming colossal, draped in a white gown, a halo behind his head, and his face shrouded in pitch-black shadows. His voice had a fiery aura in itself, but Sylvester didn't feel threatened by it.

However, this time, something was different. Sylvester managed to shift his gaze and noticed there were Solis in each direction, one behind another, a replica of the same. They all began to speak in unison, creating a deafening voice that felt overbearing and threatening.

"The battles you have won, the sacrifices you have made. But do not let mediocrity and fear taint your blade. Still remains a long journey for you to travel, with many mysteries to unravel." Solis bellowed.

Unfazed, Sylvester showed no surprise as he had witnessed much more already. Instead, he was interested in getting answers. "Who is 'they' that Saint Scepter and Pope mentioned? What's behind the door I'm being led to?"

Solis' halo expanded, enlarged, and fiery, the scent of burning flesh and boiling blood emanating in the air. "What lies ahead is for you to find out. Your actions, bloody, murderous, no matter what, do not doubt—Stay holy and stay devout."

Sylvester had no body; if he had, he would have frowned, "Am I your tool to fight against 'them'? Am I to you what Saint Scepter is to 'them'?"

Solis, seemingly angered, raised his giant hand, "Silence, human, do not question your future. You are free, and it is in your interest to cleanse 'them,' the tumor. Or else, your dream of serenity will never be a reality."

Sylvester felt frustrated, getting no answers from the god he served so devotedly. "Then what is the point of this meeting? You remain mysterious to me. How can I believe that from your control, I'm free?"

Solis raised his hands, displaying his open palms, each bearing a box, "The purpose of this assembly is to prepare you for your next journey. Choose one chest, my bard—One gives you better control over the Solarium in your body, while the other is the knowledge that shall make you a master of war."

'Is this a test?' Sylvester thought initially. 'Why not give me both since they would clearly help me?'

Sylvester pondered deeply about it and glanced around. He noticed that all the other Solis weren't holding anything in their hands, albeit showing it to him. That made him wonder about something. 'Is this Solis I'm talking to, even the main one? What if the test isn't to pick any of them but…'

"I refuse both." Sylvester declared. "I have reached the rank of Grand Wizard by fighting for my way forward. I can also reach the Supreme Wizard and beyond on my own."

Solis didn't react, and took the offered boxes back. "If that is what you desire, so be it. You shall soon sit on the throne of the Pope—Don't let faith dwindle, and people lose hope. They pray to Solis, untouched, unhurt. The other options would take no time to turn this realm into dirt."

'Should I have taken them?' Sylvester wondered, hoping he didn't make a mistake.

Boom!

Solis clapped his palms together, and his clones fainted away. Why they were there in the first place was confusing. "Sylvester Maximilian—Beware of the flying ones, and be kind to those hurt at heart. If not tread carefully, it can break the world apart."

"What do you mean?"

But Sylvester's questions weren't answered as Solis started to vanish from his vision amidst the rising sparks. However, as he disappeared, he voiced one last time.

"We shall meet again soon, bard. Until then, be sharp and honest, for things will turn very hard—May you be enlightened in my light, and may you have unbridled strength to fight."

With that, the sparks disappeared, and Sylvester found himself once again in the same dark endless abyss. However, eventually, he lost his focus, and actual slumber finally came to embrace him. His mind, which had remained secretly awake, at last, calmed down.

…

Sylvester had no idea how much time had passed. He didn't know where he was or what condition his body was in. He felt no pain, but his ears were greeted by the chirping of birds and the distant sound of people walking and talking in the city. He could feel the sunlight falling on his skin, providing warmth. The smooth breeze was also very calming.

He relished the warmth for a moment and tried to open his eyes. They felt remarkably light, as if they required no effort to open.

At first, the surge of warm sunlight blinded him, but he soon adjusted and looked around. It was a small room, fragrant with the scent of flowers from vases on a table beside his bed. He looked to his right and found Xavia sleeping, sitting on a chair and leaning her head over his bed. And on his other side, Miraj was tucked between his arm and chest, under the blanket.

His right arm was still absent, and it was going to take a long time to grow now. But he tried not to feel dismayed and warmly called his mother. "Mum… wake up."

"Max?!" Xavia abruptly jolted awake as if she was scared something had happened to him. She quickly touched his face to see if he had a fever.

Sylvester held her hand and looked at her face. Her worry was evident, even in the scents, "I'm fine, Mum."

Xavia cried beads of tears from her eyes and lunged to hug Sylvester, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I was… so worried, Max… Hendrix said your nerves that carried Solarium were damaged… he said you can't use magic ever again…"

Sylvester raised his brows in doubt and tried to make an orb of light on his left palm. It came out as easy as breathing, "He was wrong then, look."

Xavia freed him from the embrace and looked reassured. "He said the same thing. Your body has healed itself in every possible way, and you simply needed to rest."

Bam!

Brashly pushing the door open, Healer Hendrix walked into the room. The man was wearing white robes, a uniform code Sylvester had implemented for healers in hospitals. The old man looked furious for some reason. His big white beard fluttered around with twitching lips.

"You made my daughter cry." Healer Hendrix accused Sylvester. "She didn't stop crying until she fell asleep after seeing your skinny, dry body."

Sylvester chuckled, having sensed the man was joking. "Tell her I'm well now… Anyway, how is everyone?"

Healer Hendrix picked a sheet of paper that was attached to Sylvester's bed, "Except for the arm, you've made a full recovery. Your body's resilience is remarkable; we only had to give you blood; the rest you did on your own. But you should thank Mother Xavia. If she weren't there, you would have died."

"If she wasn't there, I'd have preferred death…" Sylvester replied in a low voice. "How are Sir Dolorem, Lord Inquisitor, Soulbreaker, Felix, and the rest?"

Hendrix looked at Sylvester's face with a severe expression. "Still injured and healing. Emperor Raz is in the greatest shape, and somehow he's become the children's favorite in the city. A kid stole his femur yesterday. Though it was all in good humor, thankfully."

The thought of kids liking a Supreme Wizard-ranked Emperor Lich was unimaginable, but it was acceptable.

"Yesterday? How long was I out?" Sylvester frowned and asked in haste.

"Ten years."

"WHAT!?"

"Bwahaha… two days, I mean." Healer Hendrix cheekily corrected himself. "Well, you're good to go. We put you in this room because you suddenly started to shine with that halo in the middle of the night. It never stopped."

Sylvester sighed and sat sideways on the bed to stand up, "Then I better go out and see the rest. People need to know I'm alive and well."

Xavia helped him to his feet, helping him into the hospital sandals. "Be careful."

Sylvester smiled, "I'm as good as ever now, Mum. Bursting with energy… but a few honey-baked cookies would've helped."

Bam!

Sylvester felt Miraj jumping and landing on his shoulder, his tongue out and eyes shining. He was ready to be fed.

"Your Holiness…" Hendrix suddenly interrupted them. His face seemed gloomy as if he struggled to find the right words. "Sir Dolorem's condition is the worst."

"What happened?" Sylvester quickly turned to face him, brows creased. "Speak clearly."

"He… He exhausted himself and lost blood, almost as much as you did, but didn't receive treatment fast enough. And he's not like us Grand Wizards. He's just a Silver Knight and Adept Wizards—his age is also quite advanced…"

Sylvester's heart sank; he knew why healers talk in circles sometimes. "Speak clearly and precisely! What happened to Sir Dolorem?"

Healer Hendrix lowered his voice. "Sir Dolorem is in a coma. There was irreparable damage to his veins. I'm afraid he'll never be able to wield magic again or continue being a knight…"

[A/N: Next one on the way.]

Thank you for reading. Gifts and GT votes are highly appreciated.