Beast Gacha System: All Mine

The door to Ruby’s private quarters opened with a creak, and the Pope entered.

He was an old man, his white robes immaculate, his silver hair thinning to a wispy crown around a liver-spotted scalp. His face was lined with the deep, sagging folds of advanced age, and his eyes, pale, watery green, held a gentle and benevolent expression.

Right now, he would remind you of a grandfather visiting a beloved grandchild.

He moved slowly, leaning on a ceremonial staff of polished ebony, as though the weight of his holy office had settled into his very bones.

To anyone watching, he was the picture of pious wisdom, a man who had dedicated his long life to the service of the gods and the guidance of the faithful.

But Ruby knew what lived beneath that mask.

When she saw him, her body reacted before her mind could catch up. Her pupils dilated, her breath seized in her throat.

The sedative Father Rohan had given her to help her sleep these past three days still hummed softly in her veins, dulling the edges of her terror. But unfortunately, it was not strong enough to stop the cold, crawling dread that slithered up her spine and coiled around her heart.

Her wrists were no longer bound. But she pulled her hands instinctively closer. Her legs, hidden beneath the blankets, drew up toward her chest, making herself smaller. Smaller.

The exact way she had learned to make herself when she was eight years old and this man had first come to her in the dark.

He had targeted her when she was a child. The new Saintess, a girl with pink hair and blue eyes and a holy gift that had marked her as special, chosen, divine.

She had been so proud then. So eager to serve. And the Pope, this kind, wise, grandfatherly Pope, had taken that eagerness and twisted it. Even now, even after all these years, it lingered.

He had never touched her in ways that left visible marks. He had been too clever for that. But he had touched her.

In the guise of blessing her, in the guise of preparing her for her holy duties, his hands had lingered too long. His voice had dropped too low. His eyes had followed her everywhere, watching, waiting, owning.

He had told her it was sacred, and that she was special. He had told her that no one would believe a child who made such terrible accusations against the most holy man in the empire. Not even the Saintess. And he had been right.

So Ruby had learned what she must learn.

This man was the reason she had left seventeen years ago. Not the only reason, of course, since her plan included the Delanivis and gathering wealth and power.

But he was the core of it.

This man had driven her to abandon the throne of the Saintess and flee.

She wondered, actually, how Cecilia endured the same thing she did. She didn’t actually care, she was just curious. After all, she had let that bitch sit on the throne that was supposed to be hers, so she deserved this man’s filthy attention.

"Your Holiness," one of the attending priestesses murmured, bowing low. "We did not expect you to return so soon..."

"I came as quickly as I could," the Pope said, his voice soft and trembling with practiced concern. "When I heard our beloved Saintess had been taken ill, I could not stay away. Leave us. I wish to pray with her alone."

Ruby’s heart stopped.

The priestesses bowed and withdrew, their soft footsteps fading into the corridor beyond. The door clicked shut and finally, Ruby was alone with him.

The Pope stood at the foot of her bed, his pale eyes fixed on her face with an expression of tender, grandfatherly concern.

He did not move closer, simply stood there, leaning on his ebony staff. His white robes were pooling around his feet like freshly fallen snow, while the silence stretched between them.

"My child," he said at last, his voice soft and gentle. "I was so distressed to hear of your suffering. The temple has been in an uproar... They say you screamed as though you were being murdered."

He shook his head slowly. "What kind of vision could the gods have sent you, to push you into such a predicament?"

His eyes searched her face, and Ruby knew that look. He was not asking out of concern. It was, again and always, because her visions were valuable.

In her first life, he had never treated her as a person first, only as an asset, a tool, a vessel for prophecies that could be leveraged and controlled.

If she had seen something terrible, something that threatened the temple, or the empire, or his own position, he needed to control the narrative before anyone else could.

Not to mention, this was finally his opportunity to regain his standing in the empire’s main temple.

That fake Saintess had driven him so far from his own power that he had been reduced to a figurehead, a ceremonial relic wheeled out for holidays and forgotten the rest of the year.

And this Saintess, this one, Ruby, had risen with such meteoric momentum that he hadn’t been able to do anything but watch from the shadows as she eclipsed him entirely.

But now she had suddenly fallen ill because of her vision. Wasn’t this the perfect time for him to return?

The Pope, steadfast and wise, standing beside the unstable Saintess, guiding her through her crisis, reclaiming his relevance one whispered prayer at a time.

"I am here now," he murmured, taking another step closer to her bed. "You need not carry this burden alone."

Ruby felt cornered.

The walls of her room, which had always felt like a sanctuary, were closing in. And this disgusting, smiling, grandfatherly monster, was standing at the foot of her bed, looking at her with those pale, watery eyes.

She had never felt so trapped in her life. Not even in her first life.

This life was worse. Her husband no longer cared about her... Arzhen had somehow gone mad... the vision had prophesied that girl’s arrival, the black-haired child who haunted her prophecies...

And now this man was here, circling her like a vulture, waiting for her to weaken so he could sink his claws back into her soul.

She had thought leaving that bitch Cecilia to deal with the Pope would be enough. At least Cecilia should have been able to handle him, right?

Even if she was useless at everything else, at least this should’ve been resolved! She was smart!

Ruby had assumed, when she fled, that this man would satisfy himself with another eight year old girl. So, when she returned as an adult, he would leave her alone or something.

When she found out that the fake Saintess replacing her was smart, and even acknowledged by the Dragon Lord, she thought something would be done to this man.

But she had heard the Pope had merely been driven out of the main temple, stripped of most of his non-official internal duties but otherwise untouched.

Could it be that this man had a backer? Perhaps someone powerful enough that even Cecilia couldn’t touch him?

She couldn’t figure it out.

"I’ve seen something horrible, Sir..." Ruby finally said, her voice trembling with a fear that was only half-feigned.

The Pope’s eyes widened. He leaned closer, his knuckles whitening on his ebony staff. "Yes, my child? Speak. What did the gods show you?"

"It’s... war..." Ruby answered. "The eastern people... they are going to massacre the towns on their way here... with poison mist magic."

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