"Please, Your Holiness. My son..."
The woman's voice cracked like breaking glass. She knelt beside a body too small for the sword clutched in dead fingers. Blood pooled beneath the boy—barely eighteen, face still soft with youth despite the guard's uniform.
I stared at him. This child died so I could wear a crown I didn't remember earning.
The Grand Cathedral's nave had become a morgue. Dozens of bodies lay in neat rows, each one draped with white cloth stained red. Families clustered around the dead, their grief thick as incense smoke.
Cardinal Matthias stood behind me, silent. Sister Evangeline moved between the bereaved, offering water and quiet words. General Marcus supervised the honor guard who'd carried the bodies inside.
But everyone watched me.
"What's his name?" I asked the mother.
"Thomas. Thomas Hartwell." She wiped her eyes with shaking hands. "He joined the Papal Guard last month. Said he wanted to serve God."
Serve God. Instead he served whatever put me on this throne.
I knelt beside the body. The sword was too big for his frame, ceremonial piece meant for parade duty, not warfare. Blood had dried on the blade. Not his blood.
"He fought bravely?"
"They all did." Marcus's voice carried respect and sorrow. "Held the cathedral doors against overwhelming odds. Gave their lives for the Church."
For me. For a Pope they didn't know was fake.
My hand hovered over Thomas's forehead. The Scythe leaned against my shoulder, its weight familiar now. Something stirred in my chest—warmth that spread down my arms.
Golden light flowed from my fingertips.
The wound across Thomas's throat sealed itself. Color returned to pale cheeks. For a moment, hope flared in his mother's eyes.
But his chest didn't rise.
[Faith Points +47]
[Divine Energy: -15]
[Healing successful: Wounds closed]
[Resurrection failed: Soul departed]
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I can heal the flesh, but I can't call back what's already gone."
Mrs. Hartwell touched her son's peaceful face. The terror and pain had vanished, leaving him looking like he was sleeping.
"Thank you. At least... at least he looks at rest now."
I moved to the next body. Then the next. Each time, golden light flowed. Wounds closed. Faces relaxed into peace. Families wept with relief and gratitude.
But the dead stayed dead.
The crowd's murmurs changed as I worked. Desperate pleas became awed whispers. Word spread through the cathedral—the new Pope performed miracles.
If only they knew.
[Faith Points +89]
[Faith Points +56]
[Faith Points +73]
A dying captain grabbed my wrist as I approached. Captain Reynolds, according to his nameplate. Gut wound, barely breathing, but his eyes burned with urgent need.
"Your Holiness..." Blood flecked his lips. "I saw... saw what happened..."
I leaned closer. "What did you see?"
"The previous Pope... they... they murdered him. Right there." He pointed toward the altar with a trembling finger. "But then you... you appeared. Different face, but the crown... it chose you."
My blood went cold. "Who murdered him?"
"Couldn't... couldn't see faces. Shadows moved wrong. Not natural." His grip tightened. "But they're still here. Still watching."
"Where?"
His eyes rolled back. The breath left his lungs in a long sigh.
I pressed my hands against his chest. Golden light flowed, sealing the wound. But Captain Reynolds was gone, his warning hanging in the air like smoke.
[System Alert: New Information Acquired]
[Previous Pope's fate: MURDERED]
[Threat Level: UNKNOWN ENTITIES PRESENT]
[Recommendation: Investigate immediately]
"Your Holiness?" Sister Evangeline appeared beside me. "You're trembling."
I looked at my hands. She was right. The healing drained more than divine energy as if it pulled at something deeper. Each blessing carried the weight of my guilt. These people died for a lie.
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not." Her medical training showed in the way she studied my face. "Your pupils are dilated. Skin pale. You're experiencing magical exhaustion."
"I said I'm fine."
She didn't back down. Brave girl.
"Healing magic draws from the caster's life force. Push too hard and you'll collapse. Then who helps them?"
I looked at the remaining bodies. A dozen more families waited for impossible comfort.
[Divine Energy: 34/150]
[Warning: Continued casting may cause system damage]
"Can you tell if my healing is genuine?" I asked.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, with your medical knowledge, are these real miracles or elaborate tricks?"
She frowned. "I've studied anatomy for six years. Trained under Master Physicians. What I'm seeing..." She gestured at the sealed wounds. "This is divine power. Unmistakable."
Real miracles from a fake Pope. The irony hurt.
I continued working. An elderly priest lay near the altar, clutching a broken holy symbol. Father Marcus—different Marcus than the general. This one looked like he'd fought with prayer books instead of swords.
When I touched him, his eyes opened.
"Your Holiness?" His voice was surprisingly clear for someone with a chest wound.
"Father."
"The blood on your robes..." He studied my vestments with failing eyes. "It saved us all. But beware—evil wears holy faces."
"What do you mean?"
"The ones who did this... they knew our defenses. Knew our people. Someone inside..." He coughed blood. "Someone we trust."
"Who?"
But he was gone.
[Faith Points +112]
[Divine Energy: 19/150]
[Warning: Critical energy depletion imminent]
I sat back on my heels. The cathedral spun slightly. Sister Evangeline was right about magical exhaustion.
The families around me knelt. Actual reverence, not just respect. They'd witnessed divine power flowing through their new Pope. Seen loved ones find peace.
If only they knew what I knew.
[System Alert: Moral Choice Available]
[Option A: Investigate Your Origin]
[Risk: Discovery of uncomfortable truths]
[Option B: Focus on Current Duties]
[Risk: Remaining ignorant of threats]
I chose investigation.
[New Ability Unlocked: Truth Sense]
[Effect: Physical contact reveals deception]
[Cost: 5 Divine Energy per use]
[Warning: Some truths carry dangerous consequences]
"Your Holiness." A middle-aged woman approached, leading two children. "Please, can you bless them? So they remember their father's sacrifice?"
I looked at the kids, maybe eight and ten years old, eyes red from crying. Their father lay among the honored dead.
"Of course."
I placed hands on their heads. Golden light flowed, carrying warmth and comfort. But beneath that, Truth Sense activated automatically.
They genuinely believed their father died serving God. No deception, no political calculation. Pure faith in divine purpose.
The irony cut deep. Their faith was real. My calling was fake.
"Thank you, Your Holiness," the woman whispered. "God works through you."
I tested Truth Sense on others as I worked. Grieving mothers, weeping fathers, children too young to understand death. All of them radiated authentic belief. They saw divine intervention in their Pope's miracles.
None of them knew about the conspiracy that put me here.
Sister Evangeline finished tending a wounded guard and approached. "Your Holiness, you need rest. Any more healing might—"
"I need to ask you something." I stood, swaying slightly. "But I need to touch your hand while I ask."
"That's... unusual."
"Humor me."
She extended her hand. I grasped it gently, activating Truth Sense.
"Do you believe I'm the rightful Pope?"
Truth Sense showed complete sincerity. "Yes. I've seen your divine power. Felt the authenticity of your miracles. Whatever doubts I had are gone."
"Even though my rise was sudden? Violent?"
"God's will often manifests suddenly. And sometimes violence is necessary to preserve the sacred."
Still sincere. She genuinely believed in my divine appointment.
I released her hand. "Thank you for your honesty."
"Your Holiness?" She studied my face with medical precision. "Are you questioning your own calling?"
Before I could answer, she stepped closer. "Let me examine your injuries from the coup. You were found covered in blood, but I haven't seen any wounds."
My stomach dropped.
"That's not necessary…"
"If you're hiding injuries. Untreated wounds can fester, especially after magical exhaustion." She reached for my robes. "Just a quick examination."
I stepped back. "Sister, I appreciate your concern, but…"
"Your Holiness." Her voice carried quiet authority. "I'm a healer. Let me heal."
She began loosening the ties on my outer vestments. Beneath the blood-stained white robes, my skin was unmarked. Not a scratch. Not even a bruise.
Sister Evangeline went very still.
"This is impossible," she whispered.
"Sister…"
"You were found unconscious, covered in blood. Cardinal Matthias said you'd fought off attackers. But there's no trauma. No defensive wounds. No cuts." Her medical training warred with religious faith. "Whose blood is this?"