In the shadows of the S Ranked Main character
Chapter 66: Boss(7)

Chapter 66: Boss(7)

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The silence held.

But something had changed.

June could feel it not in the air, but in the arrangement of the space around him. A subtle shifting of pressure. A realignment

He turned his head slightly, frowning.

The kneeling corpses hadn’t risen.

Not really.

But they’d moved again.

Subtle Precise With almost surgical coordination.

The scattered dead that had once bowed in uneven, haphazard rows now stood not tall, not threatening, but upright. Still hunched, still broken, yet arranged.

Some stood just behind him. Others to his left and right. The rest now formed a jagged semi-circle between him and the church’s shattered doors.

There was no sound. No hiss. No chant. Not even the rustle of old cloth or creak of bone.

But they were forming a perimeter.

Not to trap him.

To shield him.

June didn’t move at first.

His eyes flicked from one corpse to the next.

Some still bore weapons splintered staves, half-melted blades fused to arms, shattered shields hanging by bone-thread ligaments. Others were empty-handed, their hands curled like claws, or stiffly folded over sunken chests.l

But all of them faced outward.

Toward the open doors. Toward the ruined world beyond the cathedral’s threshold.

June’s sword lifted slightly, not in offense, but uncertainty.

He took a cautious step.

They didn’t flinch.

Another step diagonal this time, testing their response.

Again, no reaction

They held position like guards. Or sentinels. Or soldiers.

"What..." June murmured, voice barely more than breath, "...what are you doing?"

No answer came.

But the sensation grew stronger.

You are being protected.

A defensive shell.

And June, for all his scars and strength, for all his forged instincts, couldn’t deny what his senses told him:

He wasn’t the threat.

He was the center.

They were preparing for something.

Something coming.

He turned back toward the altar

still cracked, still dark, still crowned with the unmoving corpse

and found the sense of being watched deeper now.

Not by eyes.

Not even by presence.

But by intention.

Like the world itself was pausing, waiting to see what choice he’d make.

June clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his blade. Every muscle in his body was tense, every scar humming. He was ready for a fight, for a collapse, for some grotesque truth to finally rise out of the cracks.

But it didn’t.

Instead—

From the church’s ruined archways, a cold breeze swept through.

It didn’t disturb the corpses.

Didn’t move their cloaks.

Didn’t shift the ash.

But it curled around June’s legs like mist, rising faintly around his boots, chilling his ankles, then retreating.

A warning.

A signal

And he still didn’t know who it came from.

Or why they were defending him.

He looked at the dead closest to him

a woman in cracked ceremonial armor, her spine twisted, her hands clasped tightly over a rusted spear. Her eyes were hollow.

But the position of her body her feet angled slightly, her center of gravity tilted outward

She was guarding.

Guarding him.

He took another breath.

A slow one.

Then he turned to face the doors.

Whatever was out there

Whatever the corpses had instinctively risen to resist

Hadn’t come through yet.

But it would.

June stepped forward, only to feel the air pull back a nudge, gentle but firm, not pushing him away, but warning him not to move too far.

His brow furrowed.

"You’re protecting me..." he said slowly, quietly. "But from what?"

The corpses didn’t answer.

But something beyond the horizon stirred.

Far beyond the ruined church.

Beyond the sky.

Beyond time.

And deep in the floor beneath him, just faint enough to miss, a single thread of light shimmered for half a heartbeat

And vanished.

---

June didn’t feel them arrive.

He sensed it first—

A soft shift in the air pressure.

A scent like ozone and nectar.

The hairs on the back of his neck rising.

Then—light.

Not bright. Not searing.

But everywhere.

Tiny pinpricks. Swirling. Drifting. Radiant.

They poured through the broken rafters like wind-chimes given form—

gold, like sunlight on still water

purple, like twilight between dream and waking

blue, like memory remembered too late

The fairies.

Hundreds of them.

Maybe thousands.

A tide of them.

No drums. No horns. No fanfare.

They simply arrived

Sudden.

Soft.

Unavoidable.

June took a step back, his jaw tight. He remembered them from the Prism. Their brilliance. Their order. Their silence.

They didn’t speak. They never did.

But their presence was loud.

The glowing tide curled through the ruined cathedral like a breath finally exhaled, sweeping through shattered glass and between ruined pews. They passed over the bowed corpses without hesitation

But not a single one touched them.

The fairies circled. Slowed.

Paused

It was like watching wind hesitate.

And then

They saw June.

The entire flock turned in unison.

No eyes. No mouths.

But focused.

And the feeling hit him.

Get out.

Not spoken. Not shouted.

But pressed.

A full-body pressure, like standing at the edge of a cliff and realizing the wind wasn’t just wind—it wanted you to fall.

"No," June said hoarsely, stepping back. "No—what the hell is this? What are they protecting me from? What’s waiting?"

The fairies didn’t answer.

They moved.

A sudden ripple through their midst a wall of glimmering light coiling together midair like threads of magic spun by an unseen hand.

The corpses tensed.

Only for a moment.

Then they stilled again, as if recognizing the fairies not as allies, not as enemies, but as something older. Something that could not be stopped.

June raised his sword, more from instinct than defiance.

And the fairies advanced anyway.

They didn’t attack. Didn’t blast. Didn’t burn.

They simply surrounded him.

Wrapped his limbs. Slid past his shoulders. Wove soft circles around his chest, his back, his throat.

And June understood

They weren’t here for him.

They were here because the trial was over.

They’d seen what they needed.

They’d waited as long as they could.

And now?

They were done.

"Wait—" June tried to speak, to brace, to resist.

Too late.

The magic surged.

Gold. Purple. Blue.

And then

White.

A blinding, colorless flare exploded outward from the swarm, swallowing the ruined church, the kneeling dead, the corpse at the altar

And June.

He was ejected.

Ripped from the floor like a pulled thread. His feet left the ground, his limbs weightless, the cathedral warping like watercolor

Then silence.

Stillness.

And darkness.

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