Grey burst out into a fit of laughter, he really couldn’t help it at all. He just found all of this fucking hilarious.
He really didn’t have the patience for all the two-faced bullshit. What was the point of the song and dance, he really didn’t get it.
If someone really wanted to kill you, was out maneuvering them with words really going to change all that much? And if out maneuvering them with words was really going to be enough to change things, then what was the point of it all anyway?
Sure, Grey could guess that sometimes words were probably important. The legal system back on Earth, for example. Guilty people got off all the time and innocent people lost their lives based on words alone.
Grey hadn’t liked that all that much either, but he could understand the need for it.
But this world was different. When life and death, the power of worlds and the skies itself was in the hands of people, who gave a damn about words?
If Grey was strong enough and somebody pissed him off, he’d knock their heads off.
And since The Boundless and this Pope both were more than strong enough to do exactly that to him, the only reason he was alive here was because they wanted or needed something from him.
So why waste time with the bullshit? It was better for them to know that he couldn’t be intimidated into becoming their lapdogs and get to the fucking point.
The Pope smiled after a long moment of silence. Even Grey’s laughter didn’t seem to perturb him all that much.
"Fair enough, Grey Temolt. But then I would like to ask you another question. Why is it, exactly, that you seem to have the Imperial Bloodline running through your veins?"
Grey had finally stopped laughing at some point, but he really didn’t know how to answer that question.
At the same time, though, the people he had stolen it from were alive in this loop, so it wasn’t exactly as though they had something to accuse him of. What were they going to do? Say he stole their bloodline from another timeline?
So... he just looked confused.
"I have what now?"
The Pope looked at Grey’s eyes, but he really didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Even when his power weighed down, looking for shifts and changes in Grey’s Resonant Frame there was...
Nothing.
That was the thing about being so free and uncaring. Everybody thought that Grey was stupid or easily manipulated, a person who showed chinks in his armor just as freely as he lashed out.
The Pope immediately slotted Grey in as somebody who would be easy to read and understand.
He was very wrong.
Grey was, indeed, taken off guard by the question. And yet there wasn’t the slightest oddity in him. He just genuinely seemed confused.
Just as expected, if Grey didn’t understand, then the Pope had no other pathways. The only Imperial Princess that had died was at the hands of someone already long punished.
Funny enough, this person apparently died at the hands of Grey, and the Pope couldn’t help but wonder if there was some sort of connection. But even if that was the case... Grey still wasn’t the one to kill that member of the Imperial family.
Suddenly, all of the methods they thought would be usable to easily control Grey vanished into tiny little wisps.
A silence fell.
"So..." Grey said slowly. "Can I go now? As nice as this has been, I suddenly have a ton of energy and a lot of shit I want to do. The last thing I plan on wasting time on is staring at you, you know? I prefer women."
The Pope chuckled. "You will be assigned into the main church, Grey Temolt."
"That... doesn’t sound like I have an option to disagree."
"Your city of origin has been compromised and it cannot be trusted to house a talent of your stature."
"Yeah, yeah. So what’s the catch?"
"The catch?" The Pope chuckled. "There is no catch."
"Cap."
"Cap?" The Pope blinked. But when Grey didn’t elaborate, he continued unbothered. "If by catch you mean something you will have to give up, there is nothing at all. However, if by catch you mean fine print and a taller mountain to climb than you might have otherwise had to, then maybe there is such a thing."
"There it is." Grey mumbled.
"There are very few resources to go around the church," the Pope went on without missing a beat, having grown used to Grey’s bantering. "Even I, as the Pope, cannot assign you freely, not unless I took you as a disciple. But you are not a monk. By the same token, none of the Guardians seem to have taken a fancy to you either. So, if you would like to enter, you must do so by your own merit.
"You will need to battle one of the disciples of the Guardians to prove yourself. You can pick any one—."
"I pick his disciple." Grey said, hooking his thumb toward The Boundless.
The Pope choked on air a bit. He thought he had gotten used to Grey’s antics... but apparently not.
"Are you... sure? To maintain fairness, there are a few documents you can read to select the most appropriate disciple for you. You also do not need to win, you only need to last a number of excha—"
"I pick his disciple."
The Pope cleared his throat. "I will warn you, Grey Temolt, The Boundless does not have the youngest disciple. His weakest disciple has already crossed to the Vanguard Class."
"Then give me him." Grey clapped, and then turned around. His hands spread open and he gave The Boundless a pair of middle fingers. "I might not be able to fuck you yet, but I will fuck your disciple."
"Pause." Brad couldn’t help but mumble.
"No pauses. Full speed ahead. No lube. Bring me sacrifice!" Grey yelled at the top of his lungs.
The Boundless’ expression darkened.