Witchbound Villain: Infinite Loop
257 – The Throne Above All

In the Mythical Assembly, Inkia wasn’t the only one under scrutiny. Naturally, with such a diverse council, there were plenty of pressing matters to discuss.

First, the Outsiders. What to do about them? Second, corruption—both the literal and figurative kind. And third, and perhaps the most controversial: Who gets to sit at the top of this pyramid?

Burn had already cemented his position as Assembly Leader after dealing with the Demon Lord. That much was a given. The strongest man alive, the one leading the charge against the world’s horrors—fine, no one disputed that. But handing him absolute authority? Now that was a different conversation entirely.

"Actually, we, the elves, don’t mind," said Tashr. "The Original Saint was always meant to lead us, but she refused. Now that we have you, Your Majesty, she gets the honor through you."

Translation: The elves were passing off their historical baggage onto Burn with a pretty bow. Convenient.

"Same with us," Wekkoun, the Dwarf King, nodded. "But don’t get it twisted—it’s not because we need you. It’s because you’ve earned it. You're already our savior. That said, if you're planning to enslave us, at least work for it first."

An oddly practical sentiment. Dwarves were refreshingly straightforward that way.

Selen, sovereign of the beastkin, hummed. "You’ve never been to the Great Jungle, have you? We live by nature’s rule. The strongest rules. End of story."

A philosophy as old as time, and just as bloody.

Onulph, the Alpha King of the werewolves, chimed in. "Pretty much the same with us wolves. Though for us, family matters most. That said, I’d be happy to call you our leader."

An honor, surely. Werewolves were as territorial as they were aggressive, so their loyalty was no small thing.

Adroros, representing the centaurs, shrugged. "We’re just a bunch of scattered tribes. Don’t know how useful we’d be, but if you need us, we’ll be there the fastest."

Centaurs: good for speed, bad for politics.

Then there was Eos, the unicorn representative, who simply flicked his mane and said, "Just treat us like rare animals. You know we don’t do politics."

A rare moment of honesty.

Vlad, the vampire cardinal, only snorted. Typical.

Isaiah, speaking for the dragons, sighed. "The dragons… shall prove most troublesome." He looked as much exhausted by the mere thought of dealing with his own kind. "We are arrogant, greedy, proud—aye, far too mighty for our own good."

"Still don’t know how you call yourself a dragon," Burn remarked, raising a brow. Isaiah was, by all accounts, far too reasonable.

Isaiah only sighed again. "I shall deal with them. The last this world doth need is dragons to worsen its plight."

That just left Aidyl Navarre, the ocean’s representative. So far, he hadn’t said a word.

"What about the ocean’s emissary?" Burn finally asked, leveling him with a stare. "Your world is practically a different planet. What’s your stance?"

Aidyl, the monarch of the deep, finally smiled. "You’re right, Your Majesty. The ocean is vast—larger, richer, and more complex than you surface dwellers could ever comprehend."

The ocean floor stretched far beyond the land, swallowing over 70% of the planet’s surface. It wasn’t just a flat expanse of nothingness either—it had sprawling plains, razor-edged mountains, and canyons deep enough to make land-dwellers rethink their self-importance.

It probably hoarded more mineral wealth than the land too, not that the surface folk would ever get their hands on it.

And then there was the sheer volume of water. An entire world hidden beneath the waves, teeming with things most people on land would never see—probably for the best.

Sure, the ocean had its fair share of corruption, but let’s not pretend the surface was thriving. Of the five continents, only one had actually been purified. The other four? Still desolate wastelands.

So, if we’re talking numbers, the surface population didn’t hold a candle to what lived beneath the waves. In fact, the ocean might just have the upper hand—not only in numbers but in stability. While land-dwellers struggled with their barren lands, the ocean’s people had long since mastered the art of survival.

Burn, however, was unimpressed. "Bullshit."

Aidyl flinched, his well-practiced diplomatic smile tightening. "Excuse me?"

Burn leaned back, finally finding something amusing in this circus of a second day meeting. "Living in the ocean is a logistical nightmare. Are you seriously trying to tell me you have a functioning community comparable to the surface?"

Aidyl frowned.

Burn nodded, holding Aidyl’s gaze for a long, unblinking moment before speaking. “There’s been quite the surge in sirens lately, hasn’t there?”

The ocean monarch’s eyes narrowed, his wariness sharpening into something almost defensive. “You dare judge us?”

Burn’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “My wife usually keeps me on a leash during these meetings, so you wouldn’t know just how far I can go when she’s not here to pull me back.” His voice was cold, razor-sharp. “Tell me, are you trying to make it sound like merfolk are somehow more valuable than the rest of us?”

“I…” Aidyl faltered, eyes widening, the weight of Burn’s words pressing down on him.

“Relax,” Burn said, his tone like ice, slow and deliberate. “We already know exactly how important you are. But that’s just it—you’re important, not indispensable. You claim your people are entirely self-sufficient, yet here you are, answering Yggdrasil’s summons. That means something, doesn’t it?”

Aidyl said nothing. Because the truth was, the ocean wasn’t quite the untouchable kingdom it used to be.

The corruption had seeped into its depths, the Outsiders whispering promises sweeter than any siren’s song. And their own people? Well, they weren’t exactly holding strong. More and more merfolk were slipping, losing themselves to the temptation, falling into the abyss and reemerging as sirens.

Yes, they were strong. They had to be, given the brutality of their home. But lately, staying true to themselves had become less of a natural instinct and more of an uphill battle.

“No need to tell us everything. I’m sure most of your internal problems can be handled with your own strength and authority.” Burn’s tone was almost reassuring—almost. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his fist, eyes sharp as a dagger’s edge. “Aidyl Navarre, they call you the strongest monarch the ocean has ever seen.”

Then came the real question, the one that mattered.

“But are you strong enough to claw your way out of the disaster this world is facing?”

Burn wasn’t interested in diplomacy. He wasn’t here to negotiate. He wanted absolute submission. He could solve their problems, sure—eventually. But why should he do all the heavy lifting if he wasn’t getting everything in return?

How could he not take everything?

This wasn’t just about bringing order to a world on the brink. No, Burn had seen how these things played out. The moment the war was over, everyone would scurry back to their own corners, leaving him to clean up the mess they’d all profited from. Worse, they might turn on him the second they decided he had become the biggest threat.

It had happened before. Five hundred years ago, Morgan was left to deal with the aftermath alone. The moment he had outlived his usefulness, they could have just as easily painted a target on his back.

And wasn’t that how these stories always ended? The hero, stabbed in the back the moment his job was done?

Fine. Maybe that fate was inevitable no matter how much power he held. Maybe they’d still unite against him in the end.

But first, he’d make sure their loyalty wasn’t just spoken—it was carved in stone.

Caliburn Pendragon would be the Emperor of the world.

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