Moonlight bathed the land as a towering inferno blazed within this ancient city of thousands of years. Countless black plumes of smoke rose from the ground into the sky.
Centered on St. Peter's Square, the earth had been torn open, molten lava surging forth. From above, the city of Rome looked as though something had taken a massive bite out of it.
Much of the urban area was charred and ruined. The ground had dried and rotted, exposing deep, abyss-like ravines. Especially in the area that housed the Pope's residence and the holy city of Vatican—the voice of the Lord on earth—the buildings and parks had abruptly transformed into crimson lava, the entire zone razed flat.
Human bodies, spiritual equipment, ancient architecture, modern skyscrapers, magical barriers passed down for centuries... all things appeared to have been wiped away by a scorching hand, pulverized and scattered under the radiance of a god of destruction.
Even those far from the epicenter were not spared; the devastating shockwave wreaked havoc no less terrifying than the searing annihilation at ground zero.
Everything within dozens of kilometers was instantly uprooted. The unstoppable force leveled buildings, ripped trees from the earth, and even the knight order's fortresses scattered throughout Rome were shaved clean off the ground by the roaring gusts.
The intense heat of the blast ignited everything at the center instantly. Be it the mighty Templar Knights, devout nuns, diligent clergy, or the lofty cardinals...
Under the light of nuclear fusion, all were equal.
Vaporized, reduced to ashes, not a single body left whole—but perhaps they were the fortunate ones. Their pain was fleeting. The survivors, however, had to face the collapse of faith, the agony of injuries, loss of property, and the sorrow of losing loved ones.
At the outer edges of Rome, people clutched their aching chests, disheveled, crawling from the ground. Horror filled their faces as they stared at the collapsed buildings around them.
All around, twisted metal and shattered crystal glass littered the ground. The flames burning across the land dyed the sky a fiery red.
"St. Peter's Basilica has fallen. The holy land is gone..."
"The Vatican is destroyed. The Pope and the cardinals have likely martyred themselves and returned to the Lord's embrace..."
"We are sinners. We failed to protect the relics of Saint Peter."
"Revenge! This is blasphemy, blasphemy! All Roman Catholic believers around the world must avenge this! Only vengeance can cleanse the disgrace suffered by the Roman Church!!"
Clang!
A Templar Knight in airtight silver armor threw down his longsword and sobbed uncontrollably. A nun in traditional garb collapsed to her knees in prayer, and a priest in robes screamed in rage.
The Vatican, after all, wasn't large—less than one square kilometer in area. Most who lived there were official clergy or specially honored believers. The majority of Roman Catholics were scattered throughout the churches of Rome. Many had, by luck, survived.
Due to the massive explosion, many had suffered temporary or lasting hearing loss. Suddenly, several survivors nearby opened their mouths, shouting something, before dropping flat to the ground.
More and more people began waving their arms, seemingly in ecstatic communication. Though no one understood what was happening, as everyone looked toward the source of the sound, they saw a brilliant platinum light shining from the burning inferno.
A humanoid figure. White robe. Halo. Wings...
Six crystalline platinum wings spread wide, stirring the air. From the falling star-like particles of light radiated grandeur, vastness, majesty, and sanctity.
An angel!
A messenger of the Lord. The Father had not abandoned them. He had sent down a divine gospel...
Buzz—!
Just as the Roman believers, uplifted from despair, prepared to sing praises, they saw the "angel" raise its hand—and a towering blood-red pillar of light descended from the heavens, completely engulfing the last remaining ruins of St. Peter's Basilica in the heart of the Vatican.
Boom—!
Even in a safe area more than ten kilometers away, they could still feel the destructive force contained in that towering pillar of light. The fireball erupting once again dyed the already-fading sky red, like burning clouds at sunset reflected across the heavens.
Gulp.
Staring at the horrifying scene, all the survivors felt their throats go dry, involuntarily swallowing hard.
That was no angel bringing enlightenment and gospel—it was a death angel of destruction!
Unlike physical fear, what surged into their minds was deep self-doubt and a crisis of faith.
"Is this divine punishment?"
"Why?! Why would God treat His lambs this way?"
"What did we do wrong? Why has the Lord abandoned us?"
...
No one answered these pitiful believers whose faith had crumbled. The bishops who once had the authority to guide, to interpret the Lord's words, had already turned to ash with the Vatican.
The destructive "angel" paid no mind to these desperate seekers. It turned into a stream of light and swept across the land—its mere presence enough to shatter mortal courage.
Crackle~
As the sounds of melting metal, self-igniting wood, and exploding fuel filled the air, combined with the screech of disaster sirens and the wails of prayer and agony, Selene gazed down upon the ravaged city that barely clung to life.
At that moment, the Italian government garrison stationed near Rome finally arrived, dragging behind schedule. Firefighters, police, and soldiers erected cordons and moved to aid or evacuate civilians—some staring blankly into the sky, others collapsing in grief.
Without exception, including the secular government troops of Italy, none dared to retaliate.
The collapse of Roman Catholic faith among the populace was one thing. Even more terrifying was the inferno left behind by the angel of destruction—a place so intense it warped the air and melted all things.
Officials had begun live-streaming footage to government higher-ups surviving in other regions. Watching the death angel of destruction hover in the sky, generals who had earlier raged and demanded vengeance immediately fell silent.
They had thought it was a nuclear strike. If so, then of course it would be their jurisdiction. But now? All missile defense systems had failed to register anything. The capital had been obliterated, and no radiation was detected. Clearly, this was a magical conflict.
Fight back?
Against what, exactly?
They still wanted to live a few more days. No one was eager to die.
...I mean, you can't seriously expect them to declare war on God Himself, can you?
"Phew... What a venerable Pope... So smooth. I suppose we should thank his guilty conscience and merciful heart."
With the memory reading finished, Selene casually tossed the aged head—covered in violet-red blotches from Honkai Energy erosion—into her storage space. Her six angelic wings, impressive in form but functionally decorative, flapped behind her as she closed her eyes in contemplation.
To be honest, based on the intel Aleister had provided regarding the Roman Catholic Church's hidden assets, Selene had expected a tough battle given the energy level of this projection avatar. Yet it had been far too easy.
But after reading all the memories of Pope Matthai Reese, Selene had to admit—this man, by sheer coincidence, had played a role in dooming the Roman Church.
While the mid- and upper-ranks of the Roman Church were overrun with hawkish ideology, Matthai Reese, as Pope, was a rare dove.
Even as a mere figurehead, he was still the Pope. Many of the ancient high-level magical techniques preserved by the Roman Church required the Pope's consent to activate.
When the trigger to your ultimate weapon rests in the hands of a soft-hearted, indecisive man... the other factions in this world are truly lucky.
A satisfied curve played on her lips. A six-pointed magic circle surfaced in Selene's palm, its blood-red runes etched with black ear markings, Saint Peter's Key, and the cross. The glow it emitted was gentle and warm.
"'Fish of the Supper,' Gregorian Choir... I hope that stuff proves useful to that guy Aleister."
Though seized through plunder, it was of no use to Selene.
"Fish of the Supper" was one of the Roman Church's trump cards as the foremost of the three major Christian sects. Its effect was simple: amplification. It could magnify the power of any offensive spell two billion times.
There were many complicated steps involved, but by devouring the entire Vatican—including all the cardinals like Pietro Yogdis and even the very land itself—Selene had fully understood the structure and composition of the spell.
As for the activation conditions, there were two noteworthy points: first, the Pope must personally issue a release order; second, the target must be hated by all two billion Roman Catholic believers.
The first condition? Selene had already stripped Matthai Reese of every papal inheritance spell and spiritual artifact he possessed. As for the second... Ahem. I've done more than enough. Aleister, if you want to use it, figure it out yourself.
Selene had also secured the holy curse of the Gregorian Choir.
That so-called final weapon of the Roman Catholic Church.
It required 3,333 monks to gather in a cathedral and chant the sacred spell together. Like focusing sunlight through a magnifying glass, it could vastly enhance magical power, capable of turning any spot on the planet to ash with pinpoint accuracy.
These two grand magic rituals were the Roman Church's deepest secrets. Both required the Pope to personally lift their restrictions—a safeguard devised by the Popes who perfected the spells, to prevent misuse of papal authority.
Unfortunately, no one could've foreseen that the "God's Right Seat," originally just an advisory group to the Pope, would grow too powerful to control. They became the true rulers of the Roman Church. And now, all its deepest secrets had fallen into the hands of an outsider like Selene.
These magical systems meant nothing to her, regardless of how much pious faith was needed to activate them. They simply had no compatibility with her own power framework. At best, they were amusement.
I'll keep a copy, package it up, and send it to Aleister for refinement.
He's a master at tinkering with this kind of stuff. Once modified, it could serve as a catalyst for the Artificial Heaven.
The magic circle in her palm dissipated. Selene flapped her wings and, instead of using spatial teleportation, deliberately sped off in a flamboyant manner toward Eastern Europe.
Whoosh—!
With just a pass through the sky, the violent gust split the night sky in two. Thick clouds and all particulate matter in the atmosphere were forcibly swept aside, leaving the heavens cloudless and revealing the orange-red-tinged starlight.
Yes, Selene intended to make a scene.
The Roman Catholic Church could no longer be allowed to exist. She would shake the foundations of its influence and faith.
Why else would Selene manifest angelic wings, cosplay as an angel, and summon her custom-made silver knights modeled after angelic beings...
The six platinum wings had been chosen with care, balancing beauty, proportion, and number. Two wings were too plain, twelve too bulky, four and eight awkward—six was just right.
As for those silver knights, Selene wouldn't let them vanish immediately. She would let them rampage for a while longer. While simultaneously suppressing the active spread of Honkai Energy, she had ordered them not to harm ordinary people, but to specifically hunt down those Roman Catholics who shouted for revenge.
News of the Vatican's destruction by "divine punishment" would spread across the world.
The more devout the believers, the more they would first question themselves. For in Christian doctrine, God makes no mistakes. So if something went wrong—who was at fault?
Naturally, the Roman Catholic Church. The faithful would instinctively search for the flaws within.
Even minor shortcomings would be seen as sins in such moments. And as for actual faults—there were plenty. Selene didn't even need to point them out. It would seem tacky. Every self-reflecting believer would identify the sins they resonated with most.
...
The Strait of Malacca, the golden waterway connecting the Pacific and Indian Oceans, had long lost its former bustle.
The Roman Catholic crusade fleet's flagship, Queen of the Adriatic, patrolled near the coastal waters off Banda Aceh, but it was in poor condition.
Its ice-covered hull, normally as pristine as a white lightbulb, now resembled a child's broken toy. The moonlit ship body was charred and battered.
One side of the warship was especially damaged—twisted metal shards, scorched marks from extreme heat, and a massive hole torn into the rear cabin. Ice, formed from seawater, was rapidly repairing the damage.
Though the Queen of the Adriatic Sea hadn't suffered irreversible damage, its commanding bishop, Biagio Busoni, was still raging.
"Useless! A bunch of useless fools! So many of you, the mighty knight orders and magical combat units of the Roman Church—and you still can't take down a fortress manned by a bunch of brats, amateurs, and heretics?!"
"Those were espers... not children."
"Who?! Who dares to talk back—"
Clad in an opulent robe that dragged across the floor, exuding the aura of a nouveau riche, Biagio immediately flared up, his beard trembling with fury.
Then the next second, that rather harsh face froze. He muttered as he turned around.
"Impossible..."
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