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

The rain had long since stopped, leaving behind a thick mist that clung tightly to the night like a warm blanket.

Ilyan started awake as a cold breeze swept into the room. His eyes swept the room frantically, looking for something that wasn't there.

He muttered feverishly, sweat sliding down his forehead. "The wall... Ross... they're closing us in. Trapping us like cattle. They'll come. I know it. They always do."

The light from the flame of the oil lamp on the nearby table flickered, sending shadows dancing across the room. Ilyan eyed them suspiciously, staring without blinking.

He sat up slowly, his muscles aching. He could feel his exhaustion clinging to him, weighing him down, but the voices in his head screamed louder. Much louder.

He slowly rose to his feet, staggering before steadying himself. He needed to do something. By himself. Bellamy and Maria would try to stop him. He mustn't allow that.

He staggered to the window, slipping out and dropping, and landing heavily on his back. He groaned. The fall had been higher than his eyes had told him.

"Something… Stop him…" He muttered as he rose to his feet, slipping away and shuffling through the settlement like a ghost.

His steps took him down to the pit, where their animals lived. Where his dragon lived.

He staggered down the stone steps, a hand on the wall to steady himself. He followed the light of the torches, ignoring the smells of smoke, blood, and moss.

Minutes later, he got to a section of the pit where the light was weak. Where it barely reached the hulking beast resting near the wall of the giant room.

His dragon.

Ilyan's heart twisted at the sight of it.

The once majestic creature was a shadow of its former self. Large gashes ran across its scaly hide, and one of its wings looked twisted and broken. Dried blood crusted on its snout. The creature let out a low, pained growl when it saw him.

"You still breathe." Ilyan whispered, stumbling forward to touch its side. "You're still with me."

The dragon's eye cracked open, flickering with recognition.

"We need to get you healed." Ilyan looked around and muttered, "Berry powder. I need berry powder."

He didn't have any.

He turned, limping out of the dragon's pen. He wandered the halls of the pit until he stumbled upon a lone barbarian, who was probably there to check their own mount.

"Chief Ilyan?" The young man asked, confused. "You're awake?! What are you doing here? Do you need someth—"

The rest of his sentence was cut off as Ilyan slammed the pommel of his dagger against the young man's temple.

"Forgive me…" He murmured. "The border… the wall… you wouldn't understand."

He rifled through the unconscious man's pouches and found what he needed.

Berry powder.

He poured a small line into the back of his hand, brought it to his nose, and sniffed deeply.

Power burned through his veins. Like molten heat. Like the call of the tree.

He stumbled back to the dragon's pen, and placed a hand on its scales.

"Take it. Heal." He whispered, pushing more power through his trembling fingers.

The dragon stirred, a shudder moving through its body as the energy worked its way in, setting bones and reknitting muscles. When he was done, the dragon's fracture was healed but its injuries remained, slowly weeping blood.

"Not enough." Ilyan hissed.

The voices rose again.

"I know!" He clutched his head with a groan. "Ross is building walls. They're bringing an army. They want us gone. I FUCKING KNOW!"

"Power." He stumbled back with a whisper, his eyes widening. "The Dryad must be stronger. Stronger than ever before."

The idea seeped into his mind, taking root like a parasitic tree.

The Green Tree. The Dryad.

He needed more. More than just his own power.

He staggered through the night toward the prisoner cells. He knew the settlement like the back of his hand. He slipped through the blind spots, not stopping until he had what he needed.

The prisoners were in the cells, unconscious, gagged and bound. As was procedure. He quickly selected one, a young man from the Tribe of Stone.

He hauled him over his shoulder and moved toward the sacred grounds. Past the wall. Toward the Green Tree.

The moon shone down on its massive bark, the glowing green veins pulsing gently across its trunk. The Dryad did not appear. Not when she hadn't been called.

He dropped the prisoner to his knees at the base of the tree.

"You want blood." He rasped. "You always want blood."

His hands trembled as he drew his dagger.

"Power for life. Power to protect my people. Power to stop Ross."

He raised the blade.

"Stop!" Maria's voice cut through the night, filled with fear and urgency. She stood just a few paces away, breathless, her eyes wide.

"Father, don't. Please. You can't do this."

"He's from the Stone Tribe," Ilyan said, almost absently. "It's his blood or ours."

"Please! You can't!" Maria took a step forward. "That's not how it works. You know it's not. The Dryad only accepts freely given blood. If you force it, if you spill it here, you'll corrupt her! You'll curse us!"

Ilyan's eyes darted toward the roots. "She needs to grow stronger."

"Not like this. Father, you taught me. Her power is balance. Corruption twists everything. If you offer stolen blood, the Green Tree will twist too."

"They're coming for us, Maria! Look around you!" His voice cracked, raw with desperation. "You're scared of a curse?! We're already cursed!"

"Cursed to live like cornered animals while our enemies build walls around us. Cursed to sit and watch while our strength wanes and our enemies grow fat. Ross mocks us. And you— you would have me do nothing?!"

He gestured wildly, his dagger flashing in the night. "You think this world listens to reason? You think Albion will wait for us to gather strength?"

"NO! They will come like they always do, smiling and lying until they bury blades in our backs. I've SEEN it! They— They told me! They whisper the truth into my ears. The wall is only the beginning."

"We need you, father." Maria whispered. "Not... this."

For a moment, his hand wavered. Then the blade dropped. A line of red slashed across the prisoner's neck. Blood sprayed onto the roots.

Maria screamed, running forward, but it was too late.

The ground rumbled beneath their feet.

The tree pulsed. The glowing green veins throbbed a deep red for a second, then returned to green.

Silence fell.

And all hell broke loose.