The Pope had returned from his trip to Lake Joan. He did not answer the king's summons, but instead retreated deep underground.
After having siphoned power from the dead lake, he was ready to perform the spell necessary for hypnosis and control.
Only his personal knights' were aware of his return.
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After several hours of chanting, he emerged with the power he desired. The first step was complete.
Breathing heavily he collapsed onto the stone floor.
His entire body was drenched in sweat and the symbols he had drawn were an even brighter red. They were merging and reforming as they moved in a circle around him.
This was very ancient magic.
One that would destroy him if he wasn't careful with how he managed it.
The Saintess's power is very volatile. The impact it made on her brother is nothing. Just smoke rising. The volcano has yet to erupt.
The statue of Goddess Kartara crying is nothing more than a leak.
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Returning to the upper floors and announcing his return, the Pope sent a letter to the palace informing him that he could not leave the church.
He promised the king that all would be well and they simply had to wait out the witch's curse.
As powerful as her magic is, it will not remain intact after three weeks.
Until then, I will be utilizing my holy powers day and night to cleanse the very air of her black magic.
I promise, Your Highness. The people of Elysium will not be impacted.
The commoners who are the backbone of our kingdom will continue to thrive.
Finishing the letter, he handed it to the messenger with a smirk.
Of course, Matthew had not promised that the noble class would be safe, just the commoners. Those were the main people he craved loyalty from. If they followed him then their lords and masters would as well.
The curse was now partially under his control. The magic was hard to grasp and would do him damage if he did not release it so he had immediately directed it towards the royal family.
He would use the rest of Felicia's magic as quickly as possible before the destructive effects took off and struck down strangers.
The deaths of strangers who had no relationship or interaction with Lady Felicia would heighten public panic.
A notion that nobody was safe and anybody could get hit.
This was something the Pope was determined to stop.
Not that a bunch of random deaths bothered him, but it would be a hassle to deal with. If not for that, he would quite enjoy watching Lady Felicia wreak havoc. The killing of unsuspecting and gullible people would always be an immense source of pleasure for him. Especially since a lot of these weak minded fools looked to the wrong people to save them.
A week later...
The Pope had arranged a gathering in the city square.
It was a short carriage ride away from the palace and one of the capital city's most visited places.
Hundreds, royals, nobles and commoners, were in attendance as they were eager to have their fears erased.
The Pope unleashed his hypnotic powers. That combined with his honey tongue planted the illusion of peace in the minds of all.
Some minds rebelled.
One voice called out to him from the mass. "Your Holy Eminence, what about the Grand Duke's son? Can you save him from his plight? Will the Goddess save him from his witch sister?!"
The Pope felt irked and narrowed his power on the individual. Instantly, the man dropped to his knees in submission.
"Regretfully, Lord Alexander Del Montague is out of my reach. Though I will not be able to save him, I will save all of you!"
Thunderous cheers filled the air. The faces of the people transformed into pure adoration and joy.
All genuine emotions were washed away.
They believed every word the Pope said and left with not a single anxious thought in their minds.
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Another week passed and as promised, no one was visited by sickness or misfortune. They all praised the Pope in their homes and on the streets. They knew he would keep them all safe.
Life was good. Even under the threat of a dark curse, the effect was not felt and everyone resumed with their mundane routines.
Sadly, this was not the case for the Del Montague family. The dreaded three weeks had come to a close and the Duke no longer held hope for anything.
Looking at his son's gaunt face and emaciated form, he felt as if his heart had disappeared. The pain was not there. Not a single sound escaped his lips and not a single tear fell from his eyes.
Instead, he simply stood there with a blank expression and a thousand yard stare.
He felt his entire body go numb.
His one and only son.
His remaining blood child was gone.
Alexander's lungs had collapsed from immense strain. All blood had vanished and he looked like one those corpses pulled out of a sarcophagus. A barbaric method of sending away the dead. One practiced by the eastern kingdom.