[The Holy Capital - The Vatican Square]
The Holy Capital was in absolute, unmitigated chaos.
Millions of glossy, golden pamphlets fluttered through the air, raining down from invisible Pantheon Prime portals in the sky. The citizens of the capital were rioting in the streets. They held up the pamphlets, which displayed crystal-clear, magically-printed images of Commander Kael sobbing at a vending machine and the Iron Bank ledgers proving the Church was completely insolvent.
At the center of Vatican Square, the Supreme Pontiff stood on his grand marble balcony. He wore robes woven from pure light, desperate to calm the screaming masses.
"My children! Do not believe these corporate lies!" the Pope roared, raising his golden staff. "The Light is absolute! Behold the miracle of the Sun!"
The Pope channeled his mana, attempting to cast a continent-spanning aura of calming holy light.
Fzzt.
A pathetic, dull spark popped from the end of his staff, instantly fizzling into smoke.
The crowd went dead silent. Then, the rioting doubled in ferocity. The Pope's magic had failed. The citizens' faith had crashed to absolute zero, starving the holy ley-lines of their power. Above the city, the legendary, impenetrable Golden Dome barrier flickered, shattered like glass, and faded into the clouds.
"No..." the Pope gasped, dropping his staff. "The faith... it's gone."
"Market confidence is a fragile thing, Your Holiness."
The Pope spun around.
Sitting casually on the Pope's own velvet throne inside the balcony chambers was Victor Thorne. He had stepped through a portal directly into the Vatican, entirely unopposed now that the wards were dead. Seraphina stood to his left, her silver clipboard at the ready.
"You!" the Pope shrieked, his face turning purple with rage. "You poisoned their minds! You destroyed the Church!"
"I simply provided transparency to your shareholders," Victor stood up, buttoning his midnight-blue suit. "You have been charging them a mandatory ten percent tithe for centuries, promising them protection. Yet, your barriers are down, your army is naked, and your treasury is empty. You are running a Ponzi scheme."
Victor walked toward the balcony, looking down at the millions of furious citizens.
"Your organization is bankrupt, and your brand is toxic," Victor pulled a glowing, golden contract from the Tycoon's Ledger. "However, the Pantheon Group is looking to expand its Public Relations division. The Vatican possesses excellent acoustic architecture and a continent-wide distribution network."
The Pope backed away, trembling. "You cannot buy the Church! We answer only to the Heavens!"
"The Heavens got hit with a DMCA strike last week," Victor reminded him coldly, his Tycoon's Aura suffocating the room. "Sign the acquisition papers. The Pantheon Group will assume your debts and pacify the rioters. In exchange, the Holy Church becomes a wholly-owned subsidiary of my academy."
"And if I refuse?" the Pope spat.
"Then I open the front doors," Victor pointed to the furious mob below. "And I let your former investors collect their dividends from your hide."
The Pope looked at the screaming mob. He looked at the cold, calculating human who had dismantled his millennia-old religion in less than a month using paperwork.
With a broken sob, the Supreme Pontiff reached out and signed the corporate buyout.
"Excellent," Victor adjusted his cuffs, turning to Seraphina. "Rebrand the cathedrals. They are now Pantheon Customer Service Centers. And fire the Pope. We don't retain redundant management."