The grand iron gates of the Church loomed ahead like ancient sentinels forged from the unyielding will of centuries past, their blackened surfaces etched with intricate holy runes that glowed faintly under the dimming twilight sky. As Omega Heinriel and Ciel stepped through the threshold, their expressions remained carefully neutral, masks of composure honed through years of perilous service. The weight of what they had just witnessed—Raphael Arzenon's impossible display of power—hung heavy in the air between them, yet neither dared utter a word about it. Not to each other, not to the stoic guards standing sentinel at the gate with their gleaming halberds. They couldn't. If even a whisper escaped about a mage soaring at Mach 50 while grievously injured, it would ignite either widespread panic or fervent worship across the delicate balance of the Church and the Mage Association. Rumors like that could fracture alliances, spark heretical fervor, or worse—invite opportunistic strikes from external threats. Better to keep it buried… for now.
Inside the hallowed halls, lanterns flickered along the cold stone corridors, casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to whisper secrets of old crusades and forgotten miracles. Priests in pristine white robes hurried by with armfuls of scrolls and parchments, their faces etched with urgency as they prepared detailed reports on the chaotic situation unfolding in Misaki Town. The air carried the faint scent of incense and aged parchment, a reminder of the Church's ancient authority intertwined with the ever-present hum of political intrigue.
Ciel broke the silence first, her voice steady but laced with the quiet resolve of a seasoned operative. "Let's find High Inquisitor Lorne. He'll handle rallying the Holy Knights for whatever comes next."
Before they could take more than a few steps, Yukio approached them with purposeful strides, his heavy Holy Knight armor clinking softly. Omega Heinriel walked beside him, the two exchanging brief nods. Yukio's brow was furrowed, his usual stoic demeanor cracked by evident fatigue.
"Yukio, what happened to the Pope's order to send Holy Knights after Raphael Arzenon?" Omega Heinriel asked directly, his tone probing yet cautious.
Yukio let out a deep, weary sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as if the weight of recent debriefings still pressed upon him. "That got canceled. It's not happening anymore," he said flatly.
Ciel's eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise, her sharp mind already dissecting the implications. Cancelled? The Pope had originally planned to dispatch a squad of elite Holy Knights to arrest—or more likely eliminate—Raphael Arzenon, viewing the rising mage as a dangerous rogue element whose unchecked power threatened the established order. But now, suddenly, it was off the table?
Yukio, the Third Strongest Holy Knight—a man renowned for being assigned to the most high-risk missions, battles that tested the limits of faith and steel—looked utterly exhausted, shadows of stress lining his eyes from what must have been an intense internal discussion.
"Who ordered the cancellation?" Ciel asked sharply, her voice cutting through the corridor like a blade. This revelation changed everything about their operation, shifting the fragile chessboard of alliances in ways they could scarcely predict.
Meanwhile, Sora Starfall lingered in the shadowed corner of the hallway, her presence unnoticed by the group as she listened intently to every word. At Yukio's revelation, Sora's blood ran cold, a chill racing down her spine that had nothing to do with the drafty stone halls. Canceled? Just like that? The Church—the same institution that had declared Raphael a target mere hours ago—had abruptly called off the mission? A sickening suspicion coiled tightly in her gut. This wasn't normal protocol. Something profound had shifted behind the scenes, something that reeked of backroom deals and desperate pragmatism.
She locked eyes briefly with Omega Heinriel across the way, who appeared just as confused as she felt, his armor still scuffed and dented from the brutal clash against the corrupted King Arthur earlier. Ciel stood beside him, saying nothing, her posture alert and ready.
Yukio continued, his voice lowering as he explained the gravity of the situation. "The Pope himself canceled it after the Atlas Institute sent him an important message. Basically, Raphael Arzenon went to the Atlas Institute and joined as one of their highest members. This puts him under Atlas protection, meaning we—the Church—aren't allowed to go after him anymore. Since Atlas Institute is the Church's greatest ally, the ones who created all the weapons for us as you know… but with Raphael Arzenon being one of them now, it means that if we attack him, the Atlas Institute would instantly end their agreement with us. We, the Church, would lose access to all our weapons. That was the message the Pope got. It was either leave Raphael Arzenon alone or lose full Atlas support. The Pope chose to leave Raphael Arzenon alone over losing Atlas support. So yeah, that's why the mission is canceled now," Yukio finished, his tone heavy with reluctant acceptance.
Ciel absorbed Yukio's words, her mind racing through layers of strategy and consequence. Atlas Institute. The Church's most critical ally, the unparalleled forge responsible for manufacturing every enchanted weapon, spell-infused device, and impenetrable defense system the Holy forces relied upon. Without Atlas's unwavering support, the Church would be rendered defenseless against the encroaching threats of vampires, rogue mages, or full-scale rebellions. And Raphael had joined them? Not as some minor affiliated scholar or lowly researcher, but as one of their highest members? That elevated him to the status of a protégé or perhaps even board-level authority within their secretive ranks.
Either way… Atlas had claimed him as their own. And by extension, that made Raphael untouchable to the Church unless they were willing to risk open war with their greatest supplier—and lose all military backing in the process. No wonder the Pope had caved so quickly; the calculus of survival left no room for pride.
Ciel clenched her jaw, frustration simmering just beneath her composed surface like embers ready to ignite. This was bad. The Church—their only real authority structure capable of organizing a unified defense against the looming vampire leader Roanoke—couldn't even touch Raphael now without courting catastrophic consequences. Sending Holy Knights to apprehend him would trigger Atlas to sever ties immediately. And without those weapons? No magical artillery barrages, no reinforced enchanted armor, no divine armaments blessed with ancient runes… They'd be sitting ducks when the true storm arrived.
But on the other hand… this also meant something else: Raphael had just gained near-immunity from political interference. He could now focus entirely on preparing to fight Roanoke without the constant shadow of being hunted by his own side. A double-edged sword that cut deep into their plans.
Meanwhile, Sora Starfall felt the ground tilt beneath her feet, the polished stone floors suddenly unsteady. Raphael—her former lover, the man she had once dismissed as weak—is now under the Atlas Institute's protection? The same Atlas that armed and financed half the Church's forces? And worse… he had joined them as a high-ranking member? A cruel irony stabbed into her heart like a poisoned dagger. She had wanted Raphael for leverage, to bend his growing power to her will, but in reality, it was Raphael who had secured untouchable status. The Pope had chosen cold politics over righteous bloodshed.
Her hands trembled slightly at her sides before she forced them into tight fists, nails biting into her palms. This changed everything. Raphael—safe. Untouchable. Under the wing of Atlas. And she? Still just a Saintess with no real power to defy the intricate web of international mage politics and alliances. A bitter laugh nearly escaped her lips—how poetic that fate would reward him so completely while leaving her stranded on the sidelines, watching as the man she underestimated ascended beyond her reach.
"Understood," Sora said calmly to Yukio after a measured pause, bowing slightly in deference despite the raging storm inside her. Her voice was a perfect mask of serenity. "The Pope's decision is wise. We must trust in his divine guidance during these turbulent times."
Omega Heinriel smirked, crossing his arms over his scuffed chestplate. "This is a good thing. The Church was stupid for issuing that order in the first place. I hope the Pope learned from his idiocy with that message," he said, his tone blunt and unfiltered, carrying the weariness of a warrior who had seen too many flawed commands.
Yukio's face twisted in immediate anger, his eyes flashing with righteous indignation. "You dare?" he growled, voice low and dangerous.
"Yes, Yukio. And get off the Pope's dick. It's disgusting how much you simp for that dude without getting any credit," Omega Heinriel shot back, his words laced with raw frustration.
Yukio's face twisted further in rage, his holy knight uniform seeming to stiffen as he took a threatening step forward, holy energy faintly crackling around his clenched fists. "Simp?" Yukio growled, his voice laced with fury that echoed off the stone walls. "I don't simp—I follow orders from the divine authority of the Church! The Pope is our spiritual and temporal leader—show some damn respect!"
The air crackled with palpable tension. Holy Knights weren't known for their patience, especially when it came to any perceived disrespect toward the Church hierarchy. The corridor felt smaller, charged like the moments before a duel.
But Omega didn't back down—he simply stared Yukio dead in the eyes, unflinching despite being outranked and still bearing the wounds from recent battles. His gaze held the quiet defiance of someone who had bled for the cause far too many times.
Ciel tensed slightly beside them, her hand hovering near her weapon, ready to intervene if needed. This could escalate fast…
Omega Heinriel sighed heavily, the sound carrying the exhaustion of endless internal conflicts. "Fine. I apologize. Now get lost," he said dismissively to Yukio before turning to Ciel. "Let's leave before he starts speaking nonsense," Omega added, his voice dripping with irritation.
Yukio's face turned a deep shade of red with fury, his hands clenching into fists so tight his gauntlets creaked. "Apologize?" he snapped, voice rising. "You don't get to say that and then walk away like—"
But Omega was already turning away, ignoring him completely as if the Third Strongest Knight were no more than background noise.
Ciel grabbed Yukio's arm subtly—not forcefully, but firmly enough to signal restraint. Drop it. This wasn't worth a brawl in the sacred Church halls. The Third Holy Knight looked ready to explode, veins bulging at his temples… but after a tense, charged second, he yanked his arm free with a sharp motion and stormed off down the corridor, his furious steps echoing like thunder.
Omega exhaled through his nose—the kind of quiet, simmering anger only someone who had been loyal for years could feel toward blind, unyielding authority. The weight of it settled in his shoulders as he and Ciel began to walk away.
Sora Starfall observed the entire exchange silently from her shadowed vantage, her sharp eyes missing nothing. A part of her was impressed by Omega's boldness, the raw courage to challenge hierarchy in such a place; another part recognized how dangerously reckless that kind of defiance could be within the rigid Church structure. The air still hummed with residual tension as Yukio's retreating figure disappeared around a corner. She waited until Omega and Ciel were well out of earshot before turning on her heel, her mind a whirlwind of chaotic thoughts. Starting with Raphael's new status under Atlas protection… She had much to sort through, and the bitter taste of shifting fates lingered on her tongue.
The grand corridors of the Church continued to echo with the fading footsteps of Yukio's furious retreat, the tension from their earlier confrontation still lingering in the air like the aftertaste of a bitter potion. Omega Heinriel walked alongside Ciel, his scuffed armor catching the flickering lantern light as they moved deeper into the ancient halls. The weight of recent revelations pressed heavily upon them both—the sudden cancellation of the mission against Raphael Arzenon, the shadowy influence of the Atlas Institute, and now the simmering doubts about their own ranks.
Omega Heinriel glanced sideways at Ciel, his expression a mix of weary realization and quiet frustration. "Ciel, now I understand why you hate blind followers like Yukio," said Omega Heinriel, his voice low but carrying a depth of hard-earned conviction forged through countless battles where blind obedience had cost lives.
Ciel glanced at Omega, her sharp eyes widening slightly in surprise at his directness. She had long harbored a deep-seated disdain for those who followed orders without question, individuals who treated authority as an unassailable religion rather than something to be scrutinized with critical thought. Yukio embodied that flaw perfectly: his loyalty to the Pope stemmed not from genuine respect for the man's wisdom or character, but from rigid expectation and ingrained dogma. In a world teetering on the brink of supernatural war, such unthinking devotion was a liability that could doom them all.
"Yeah," Ciel said quietly, her tone laced with a quiet intensity that revealed years of suppressed frustration. "They're dangerous. People like that enable bad leaders and start wars over stupid orders without ever pausing to consider the consequences. They become tools in the hands of the ambitious or the corrupt, marching forward even when the path leads straight into the abyss."
No wonder Raphael Arzenon had distanced himself from the Church's tangled politics—he had clearly seen through the same poisonous nonsense, choosing independence over becoming another cog in a flawed machine.
She looked down the long hall where Yukio had vanished, the stone walls seeming to close in with unspoken secrets. "If more people thought like you or me… maybe things wouldn't be this messed up. Maybe we could actually face threats like Roanoke with clear heads instead of layers of blind faith and hidden agendas."
Omega Heinriel nodded slowly, his brow furrowing as deeper suspicions surfaced. "Yeah, but Yukio's loyalty feels fake. I don't know… it just seems that whenever he praises the Pope, his tone always feels off to me. The only times his voice ever sounded genuine was whenever he was jokingly talking about killing everyone in the Church and the Clock Tower. But besides those moments, he always feels off or fake to me," said Omega Heinriel, his words heavy with the unease of a warrior who had learned to trust his instincts in the heat of battle.
Ciel listened carefully, her expression darkening like storm clouds gathering over a battlefield. Fake loyalty. That was far worse than mere blind obedience. At least with true zealots, you knew where they stood. But this? It suggested a calculated performance, a mask worn for appearances—likely to climb the ranks or maintain influence while hiding something far darker beneath.
And the only time his voice rang true? When joking about slaughtering everyone in the Church and the Clock Tower? A chill ran down Ciel's spine, icy fingers tracing her vertebrae as fragments of past encounters with traitors resurfaced in her mind. She had seen that kind of man before—someone who donned the cloak of devotion like a well-fitted disguise, all while secretly harboring deep resentment or even outright hatred toward the very organization they served.
Dangerous. Unstable. A ticking bomb hidden in holy armor.
Ciel exchanged a meaningful glance with Omega, both of them silently acknowledging the same grim possibility. Yukio was not to be trusted. Not as a steadfast ally. Not even as a neutral party in the coming conflicts. If he truly nursed such hatred deep within, his so-called loyalty could shatter like brittle glass under the slightest pressure—especially in the chaos of war.
"Keep an eye on him," Ciel muttered, more to herself than to Omega, though her voice carried a steely edge of warning. "If Roanoke attacks… we can't afford someone turning on us from inside. The last thing we need is a knife in the back while we're fighting monsters at the front."
They already faced enough existential threats from the vampire forces—they didn't need betrayal blooming like poison within their own sacred halls.
Omega Heinriel's gaze hardened further as another critical memory surfaced. "Another thing—this few hours ago when Azravael and Rairen attacked me and the other Holy Knights in Britain. Those two Dead Apostles targeted everyone besides Yukio. Like, the best they did to Yukio was seal him away temporarily when he was left open to kill. They targeted me with full desire to kill. Even Raphael Arzenon called it a weird coincidence," said Omega Heinriel as he thought back to the earlier, brutal event, his voice tinged with lingering anger and suspicion.
Ciel's eyes narrowed sharply, her mind sharpening like a honed blade as Omega recounted the incident. Now that he mentioned it… reports of the assault in Britain had reached her ears amid the chaos. Azravael and Rairen—two of the most vicious and powerful Dead Apostles known for their merciless hatred of the Church—had descended upon the Holy Knights there, leaving a trail of death and maimed warriors in their wake. Dozens had fallen or been crippled in the onslaught.
But Yukio? They hadn't touched him with lethal intent. They had merely sealed him away, treating him like a temporary prisoner rather than the enemy he should have been.
And Raphael had flagged it as strange? Weird coincidence?
Yes. It was more than strange. In a world where vampires and Dead Apostles viewed Church forces as existential abominations to be eradicated without mercy, such selective restraint screamed of ulterior motives.
A cold suspicion crept into Ciel's mind like frost spreading across glass: Was Yukio working with vampires?
Her thoughts raced, connecting ominous dots with the precision of a master strategist. If Yukio had been spared during a massacre of his fellow Holy Knights… and if creatures that despised the Church with every unholy fiber of their being had shown him such favoritism…
That wasn't coincidence. That was deliberate protection. Favoritism born of alliance.
And Raphael Arzenon, a man whose analytical mind dissected threats like a surgeon with a scalpel, had noticed the anomaly too.
She glanced at Omega—the battle-hardened warrior who had faced both Azravael and Rairen head-on. If the vampires had targeted him with unrestrained killing intent, yet left Yukio untouched amid the carnage…
It pointed to something dark and treacherous: Yukio might be in secret contact—or worse, in active alliance—with the vampire forces.
The thought made her blood run cold, a visceral dread settling in her gut.
Omega Heinriel's expression grew even more grave. "It makes me worried for the Pope since Yukio is the right-hand man of the Pope himself. If Yukio is a traitor, then the Pope is in danger the most," said Omega Heinriel, his voice heavy with genuine concern for the Church's spiritual leader.
Ciel's breath hitched sharply, the implications crashing over her like a tidal wave. Right hand of the Pope. That single fact elevated the threat to catastrophic levels. Yukio wasn't just another knight; he was intimately involved in the Pope's security, strategy coordination, and even private counsel. A traitor in such a position could poison decisions at the highest level, leak critical intelligence to the enemy, or worse—orchestrate a direct betrayal or assassination from within the heart of power.
And with Roanoke's forces poised to strike at any moment…
Yukio might already be funneling secrets to the vampire lords, weakening the Church from the inside.
"Shit," Ciel whispered under her breath, the curse slipping out with raw, unfiltered emotion as the full horror of the scenario unfolded. "We can't let that happen. We need proof—fast—before everything we've sworn to protect crumbles from within."
The flickering lanterns cast elongated shadows across their faces, mirroring the deepening darkness of suspicion now shadowing their every step. In the hallowed yet treacherous halls of the Church, trust had become the rarest and most fragile commodity of all.